


The McFaddens Boys of Whipstaff Manor

by QuiteALotOfSodaPop



Category: Casper (1995)
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Ghosts, Humor, Implied Relationships, Past Character Death, Repressed Memories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-06-08 17:23:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 47,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6866059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuiteALotOfSodaPop/pseuds/QuiteALotOfSodaPop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During a regular session, Dr Harvey begins to uncover some interesting facts about the Ghostly Trio and their upbringing in Whipstaff. Unlocking a ghost's memory is a long and grueling process but Dr Harvey is determined to make these dead pranksters remember. Of course, do they even want to remember?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bare Bones

Dr James Harvey tapped his pen against the hardwood desk. Deep in thought, he couldn't recall having a more difficult set of clients. It normally took three weeks of sessions before his patients felt that they could move on. These particular patients however had just completed their second month. Two long, annoying, hair-pulling, bad smelling, attempted murdering months of trying to simply convince them to cease haunting as they pleased.

Needless to say, after nearly 45 minutes of their usual mischief, Dr Harvey was beginning to lose his patience.

"So fellas." he began cautiously, not wanting to say something that could spark another 'disruption'. "As you may know, me and my daughter have been... assisting your journey to stop haunting for quite some time now. And as far as I can see, we've made little to no progress. Any thoughts?"

"Does my ectoplasm make me look fat?."

"Are you a natural brunette?"

"Do you know what happened to the remote? I lost it after Dallas."

Dr Harvey planted his face into the desk in defeat as the three apparitions cackled from their chairs. These three were like talking to a pile of rocks. The spiked kind that were all ways at the bottom of waterfalls.

"All right. I think that's enough for today." he stated, gathering his pen and paper into the desk drawer, as if the trio would be deterred from tossing them about the study when he left.

"Aw c'mon Doc!" Fatso whined, jabbing a finger towards the broken grandfather clock. "You haven't even been here an hour!"

"Could it be that we've finally...broken you?" Stinkie asked in amazement, a buck toothed smile stretching across his face.

The three brothers turned to give each other excited celebratory handshakes, loud ragtime music mock fireworks going off behind them.

"We did it boys! The war is over!" The eldest brother, Stretch cried in 1940's accent, wiping away a ghostly tear.

Dr Harvey had yet to understand just how the trio were able to create these strange spectacles, though he guessed it as being an addition to their shapeshifting.

"No you have not 'broken me'." he said firmly. This seemed to shut the ghosts up as their music and fireworks ended abruptly. They glared at the psychologist with disdain, daring him to even suggest another session. "Although I feel... disappointed by today's progress, it is my duty as a paranormal psychologist to help all three of you, including your nephew, into completing your unfinished business."

"There ain't no business to be finished." Stinkie scowled, his arms folding across his chest like a pouting child.

"'Sides Doc, we don't know what side we'll end up on. We haven't been exactly saints since we died." Fatso, the youngest brother, seemed much more worried by this thought then his siblings, who nodded in agreement but didn't dwell on the matter.

"Whether destined for hell or paradise Doc, we got a good deal being ghosts." Stretch rose a foot above the doctor in a threatening stance. " We ain't looking for a golden ticket into heaven."

"What if one of us don't pass on? There can't be a Ghostly Trio if you only got one of 'em!" the middle McFadden child argued. "Not to mention what will happen to bulb-head if we go."

"That's an unusual display of concern for your nephew. You don't normally bring him or any other family member up." Dr Harvey felt something spark, as if he just found a frayed wire in these spirits' memories. Most ghosts didn't remember much of anything post-mortem either through trauma or denial. Bringing up these three's family could prove fruitful.

"Eh. Kid needs a mentor." Fatso shrugged, shifting his place on the overstuffed armchair. "He never really had anyone since his Ma passed."

"Casper's mother?"

"Greatest dame you could ever meet." Stretch nodded affirmatively. After a few seconds he began to scowl. "Wasn't anything like our Ma. Ours was a demon."

"Careful there brother. She might come back and haunt us out of spite." Stinkie joked, shivering to add to the effect.

James sat down once more, thinking that any nugget of truth could be worth his time. Straightening his rumpled jacket, he readied a pen and paper. "How exactly did the McFadden family come to be? Not often that a family as... exuberant as yours simply appears out of nowhere."

The three ghosts scratched the back of their necks thoughtfully. The simple question seemed to completely stump them. Whether they honestly didn't know or it was an effect of being dead for so long.

"I... " the eldest began, his voice catching in his throat. "Don't remember. I haven't even thought of Ma till now."

"Dad had a really long moustache right?" the youngest recalled, digging through his brain for anything of use. "And J.T tried to imitate him but it grew really wrong?"

"Oh yeah!" Stinkie recalled, snickering. "Remember that time me and Stretch shaved it off just before that date with Casper's Ma?"

"Now I do!" Stretch laughed, but not in the way he usually did. While the trio's usual amused noises were loud cackles and honks, this was more like a breathless chuckle. A laugh at things long since past. "He was so mad with us!"

The three brothers took on a more friendly glow to them, obviously placated by nostalgic memories. Dr Harvey cheered internally. Finally a breakthrough!

"Did you three by chance grow up in Whipstaff?" he asked the most vanilla question he could muster. Anything too invasive could spell trouble (or a ruined batch of laundry).

"Course we did. Every McFadden was born and raised here. Right back to Great Grandpa Hamish." Stretch stared at the Doctor as if he was questioning their legitimacy. "We were all born here, we were all raised here, and we all died here."

"You must have some significant attachment to the manor then. It's hard to leave the only home you've known." James' eyes darted away, trying to push away a similar experience from his thoughts. "What do you remember of your early life? When you were all still flesh and blood."

The ghosts all sat in their chairs, hunched over in thought. Stretch held his hand under his chin, staring off into distance with an angry frown. Fatso's eyes occasionally lit up but fell back into confusion, the memories zooming past his mind. Stinkie was having the worst of it, after half a minute he covered his ears with his hands and started groaning at a brewing headache.

"Now this is an interesting reaction." James pondered. _"It seems as though remembering is their greatest obstacle, to the point of causing psychosomatic pain. Surely their years of afterlife haven't erased everything has it?"_

"Holy Kibosh..." Stretch mumbled, his violet eyes widening. "I freaking remember! We all used to be tiny and made of flesh."

The doctor smiled in triumph, close to cheering out loud. "And what do you remember?"

"I remember... " he began.

***

All four of the McFadden boys were brought into the world on April 1st. Not in the same year mind you, Ma wasn't Wonder Woman after all. There was at least one or two years in between brothers, but the coincidence was simply too bizarre not to be mentioned. At least it got them an article in that week's Sunday paper.

Stephen 'Stretch' McFadden was born at midnight exactly 37 weeks after the marriage between Master Jonathan McFadden and Mistress Margaret McFadden née Crittenden. Due to his rather early birth, every member of the extended family were convinced that he was a hell-bound bastard child conceived out of wedlock, but being irrefutably polite they didn't say a word. This set the tone for most of Stretch's upbringing.

Stewart 'Stinkie' McFadden was born in the wee hours of the morning a year later. Ma McFadden was going to the privy when her second child decided to make an appearance. It took two hours before the young mother realised that she didn't have bad constipation. Stinkie would always be teased by his brothers for being born in (and smelling like) a toilet.

Fredrick 'Fatso' McFadden was born in the afternoon during his brothers' birthday party (Stretch was 3, Stinkie was 2). According to Father's stories, both elder children had become upset that the event was interrupted and tossed cake at the obstetrician. Fatso came into the world through a Caesarean birth, two weeks too late and weighing in at nine pounds, poor Ma didn't stand a chance. Luckily she survived the procedure but the physical trauma made her swear that she'd never have another child. At least that's what they were told when they grew older.

Which brings us to the trio's earliest memory together. The very night of their birthday, they heard maids and butlers and midwives and doctors rushing around the manor. The brothers broke out of their shared bedroom with ease and began stumbling their ways down the halls. Ma and Father had been acting funny for a real long time now. Ma was knitting small powder blue hats, Father was going around telling his friends "'bout time we had a girl", and the room Fatso used to live in was completely refurbished with dainty blue furniture and toys.

Being careful to avoid one of their many nannies, the boys made sure that the coast of clear before making their way into the West wing of their labyrinthine home.

With Stinkie dragging their chubby two-year old brother behind them via a blanket, Stretch was the first to the reach their parents' doors. Only able to see through the gap under the door, he could make out the vague image of Ma and Father sitting on their bed, Ma holding a small bundle.

"I'm sorry dear." He heard Father sigh. "Seems that we have produced another boy."

"I was so hopeful that it would be a girl this time. After what happened with Fredrick..."

"No worries dear. The statistics of gender is 50/50 and we have loaded dice. Then again father said it was bad luck to only have one of the the two."

Silence reverberated across the room. Ma shifted so that she was lying on the bed, passing the bundle to her husband and mumbling about meaningless things.

"If all else fails we'll give two to our cousins the Addams. Sure they won't mind a few extra boys." he joked, gently rocking the bundle in his arms.

Those words froze the peeping tom's blood into ice. Ma and Father didn't want them? Being small children with no grasp of sarcasm and/or jokes, they tended to take what Father said as the gospel truth.

"What's hap-nin'?" Stinkie asked, still trying to master his speech. "What they say?

Stretch got up from the floor and stood tall over his brothers. He placed his hands on his hips like he'd seen Ma and Father do when they were bossing someone around. His younger brothers winced, knowing that this gesture meant business.

"They wanna get rid of two of us to make room for what's in there." He jabbed his thumb at the door, teeth clenching as he could make out the coos and babbles of **IT**. "And as eldest, I am ob-obli-... contracted to stay and take care of it."

"How come youse have ta stay?" The middle brother yelled, letting go of the blanket trailing behind him. "Maybe they don't want you cus' your too old."

"No way! They don't want you or Fatso over there cus' you stopped being cute. Plus ya stink like a rotten potato."

"Youse take that back! I'm still cute!"

The two eldest brothers tackled each other to the ground, kicking, punching, and on Stinkie's half biting. From his blanket Fatso gave screeches of encouragement, like he was watching two gladiators duke it out in the ring. As the brothers' fight raged on outside, the double doors to the room swung open, revealing their father.

"Boys! Cease this rabble immediately! You will wake your brother." Father was a no-nonsense man of good breeding who never in his recollection rough-housed or argued with his siblings, which made the animosity between his sons all the more confusing for him.

Grabbing them by the scruffs of their nightclothes, he tucked Stinkie under his arm, while Stretch was thrown over his shoulders. Leaning down with utmost patience and balance (difficult when you have two toddlers kicking and screaming down your ears) and scooped up his now second-youngest son.

All three hit their father with tiny, ineffectual fists and screamed like the dead. This did not deter him however and he opened the door of their bedroom with his foot. Plopping each child onto their respective beds, he stood tall with hands on the hips as his son tried to imitate.

"Boys I am very disappointed in you. Being awake after bedtime, wandering the castle without supervision, rough-housing, and around your baby brother no less!"

Fatso rolled down the length of his bed before landing on his stomach. "Ay-hm here!" He piped up, thrashing his chubby limbs.

Father looked unamused and relaxed slightly. Rearranging his son so that he was sitting up right. "It is not you to whom I refer. Your mother and I have... created a new brother for all of you."

"And you want two of us gone right?" Stretch scowled, kicking the blankets off his bed. "I ain't going."

"Not me either!"

"Nope!"

Father chuckled warmly, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "None of you are leaving. I had merely jested to your mother that we had an unusually high amount of male children. We had been expecting a girl you see and this is likely the only time your mother can have a baby."

"Sooooo... one of us has to be a girl?" Stinkie misheard, sharing confused glances with his brothers. "I ain't doing it!"

"Only if I still get the family bis-ness." Stretch bargained with a smug grin.

"Girls?" Fatso mumbled confusedly, having not yet grasped the concept of genders.

"Boys! Boys!" Father silenced them with a wave of his hands. "I did not mean we need a girl, simply that we would have preferred one. But we will still love you all equally. Your new brother will not impact or change mine or your mother's feelings for you. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Father." The brothers replied in half-understanding, reshaping their blankets and pillows for bed.

"Goodnight boys." Father said from the door. "You will meet your little brother tomorrow morning. Hopefully you will all behave around him."

With that he closed the door, making sure to lock it this time.

The next day the three McFadden boys were introduced to Jonathan Thomas McFadden, the youngest of all four brothers. The utterance of his full name would leave a bad taste in the trio's mouths for years to come.

***

"Jonathan-Thomas." Dr Harvey said absentmindedly, immersed in the detailed memory. "That would be Casper's father yes?"

"Yeah." Fatso confirmed, his eyes narrowed in discomfort. "You know what our dad said was a lie."

"Which part?" the psychologist asked carefully, he still didn't have a clear picture of their childhoods but from the bare bones of it he could tell they harboured some venom against their youngest brother.

"They didn't love us equally." Stretch growled, his violet eyes glowing brighter than usual. "Tell me Doc, isn't it tradition for the eldest son to inherit the dad's name?"

"In many old money families yes." James could see where this was going. It was likely that the McFadden parents held a not-so hidden favouritism for their youngest child.

"Then how come J.T got his name?"

The room became deathly (pardon the pun) silent. All three ghosts adorned angry frowns and furrowed brows at the memory of the forth McFadden brother. Dr Harvey could sense that today's session had gone on too long, judging by his watch they had been talking for at least two hours.

"I think... " He said clearly, drawing the ghouls' attention. "We have done enough for today. Thank you with sharing that with me. I hope we can meet tomorrow and discuss more but do not hesitate to tell me if a new memory resurfaces."

The three ghosts mumbled in half-hearted agreement, floating through the walls into the parlor room, leaving a gust of coldness behind them. Dr James Harvey slumped in his chair, taken aback by all the new information he had received. Perhaps mentioning family really was the ticket.

Of course some of the information was things he could have dug through the town's public records for, but it helped that the ghosts had placed at least some trust in him.

Perhaps next session he should ask about their parents and relatives. They seemed reluctant to tell him anything about them. Then again he wouldn't want to be too aggressive in his method less he lose whatever trust he gained. He'd bet that recalling all of that significantly drained their energy.

A large old blanket fell onto his head and completely covered the doctor with a musty odorous layer of dust. A cackling laughter from above his head had proved his theory wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally wrote this on fanfic net a while back but I've become a lot more interested in continuing it on here.


	2. The Industrial Facts Concerning Jonathan McFadden And His Family

Stewart 'Stinkie' McFadden was staring at a drill.

He had been staring at it for a very long time before a light bulb dinged! above his head. The Doc had called some repair guys over earlier that week in order to fix areas of the dilapidated manor. The Ghostly Trio thought the disarray was completely fine. Sure there was no hot water, the floorboards would give away, the carpets held over a hundred years of mould, and literally everything was covered in dust, but it was home.

The Doc got real ornery when the three ghosts attempted to spook the repair guys away, and after chasing them down the halls with a vacuum cleaner he bargained that either the ghosts stayed out of the way or be trapped in the vacuum bag for an entire week. That was diplomatic enough.

Now in the after hours, the contractors had left their equipment scattered everywhere, intending to utilise them in the morning. Which leads us to Stinkie staring at a drill.

Stinkie wouldn't say he was a gadget geek, but he was the most technologically savvy of the brothers. Growing up surrounded by kooky Edwardian breakthroughs excited him more than anything, except probably for Limburger cheese.

Now that he thought about it, he wondered what sparked such a fascination in the first place.

***

Jonathan Thomas McFadden inherited his business from his father, Jonathan McFadden, from his father Thomas McFadden, and his from his father and uncle, Hamish and Archie McFadden.

Both brothers were of Scottish stock and had left their homeland at the tender ages of six and five respectively. Settling in Friendship, Maine – at that point a factory district – their parents hurried them to attain the ultimate American dream. Build your own business and pass it along through nepotism.

When the two scraped enough together to create **"McFadden Brothers' Industries"** , there were a few teething problems. While Hamish settled just fine into the passive aggressive world of industrial wealth, Archie didn't roll very well. His practical jokes and disturbing interests went unappreciated in the White Anglo-Saxton social circle. He went away for a while, leaving the business in the his older brother's capable hands, and returned years later mutually-madly in love with a large vampiric beauty of mixed origin known as Lacrimare Addams. For some strange reason most of the upper-crust fled in terror at the sound of her name.

It was certainly a happy union, but not one the McFaddens approved of. Still trying to keep their fragile reputation, his parents and his brother aggressively dismissed his chosen bride. Archie was given the ultimatum: Dump the girl or loose his share of the family business. He disappeared mysteriously that night and a few days later the wedding invitation tumbled through the letter box. It would be three decades before the brothers spoke to each other again.

Meanwhile **McFadden Industries** (the 'Brothers' was dropped for obvious reasons) boomed. If there was anything Hamish thanked his brother for, it was for investing in the coal and steel sector. Hamish himself was interested in branching out into transport, so when the early experimental stages of railway travel were needing extra scrap and fuel, Hamish McFadden's pockets were fit to burst.

Hiring the most expensive contractors he knew to create the most expensive manor imaginable (passive-aggressively nicknamed 'Whipstaff' as a nod to the way he worked his men to the bone), Hamish planned to drown in his wealth. Only one thing was missing – a nice gal. There was certainly a line of young desperate ladies with whom he shared interest. But he desired a strong erudite wife with the ferocity he so missed about Scotland. Finally as he reached his later years he found the perfect woman, a New Jersey oil and waste mogul named Lotta Verbinski. After the mandatory courtship period they quickly agreed to marriage. The only thing he would complain about was her god-awful body odour gained from her free reign of the factory floor.

Their eldest son, the adored jewel atop the family crown, Thomas McFadden, took the reins of the company very clumsily. A boy of weak frame and mind, he certainly wasn't ready to inherit the business. At the tender age of 20 he lost his father and mother to an outbreak of the White Death. The blow had been tremendous to the young lad, coddled by his mother and boasted by his father, he had never anticipated actually losing either parent. He wasn't allowed see them at their deathbed.

"Tuberculosis is too dangerous for a boy like him." he overheard his father say in-between wet retching coughs. He never even learnt what his parent's last words were, they choked on their own mucus before anyone could ask them to repeat what they had said.

 **McFadden Industries** was almost eaten alive. Thomas struggled to balance the company along with his wife (a money-fallen Irish lumberjill named Siofra Barclay) and three rapidly hungry mouths. His siblings were busy running their mother's businesses all the way in Atlantic City and had no intentions to feed a dead scrap company. He saw no solution in sight, except to contact his extended family and ask them for assistance.

Not in those words mind you. There was a subtlety to this course of action. Uncle Hadrian needed a few carpets moved, Cousin Who (from the Addams side of the family) needed somewhere to hide his collectibles, and Aunt Miasma had some herbs and spices that needed to be guarded during their transport. Word spread quickly through the very deep underground that a certain McFadden was willing to do anything to keep his father's manor. And so did the grime accumulate in Whipstaff.

Supposedly cursed relics and stolen artifacts made their way into some of the many storage rooms of Whipstaff, along with some objects that were less than honest. Thomas quickly learnt that some of the hard money was in warfare. Needless to say when the Civil war broke out he found himself richer than he had ever been before, but became morally bankrupt as a result. Whipstaff for what ever reason was infected with hidden prison cells and rooms of "negotiation" in it's bowels. When an associate tried to back out of a deal, Thomas McFadden made them see it through, less they be found weeks later mangled and putrefying the riverbed.

Soon his own wife grew fearful of her husband and demanded that he step down from his place at the company. When he had struck her multiple times and threatened that he would leave her for a pretty blonde about a third of her age, she took action.

No one truly knows how Thomas McFadden perished. His gravestone has been eroded clean by years of rain, bird droppings, and deliberate vandalism by his own children. The public health records tell that he was extremely feeble as he neared the ancient hallmark of 45 years old and passed away through the old nugget of a heart attack as he slept peacefully in his bed.

Then again all who knew Siofra were aware that she spent a few years in a nursing college, and still kept a collection of syringes and bottles of strange bitter mixtures in her sewing room. After the day her husband tragically passed on, one bottle was permanently misplaced.

From upon his father's (secretly anticipated) expiration Jonathan McFadden took hold of **McFadden Industries** with a smile and a handshake. Eager to shake off Thomas' cruel reign, Jonathan divided the company between his two other siblings (Frederica and Albert McFadden) so to avoid absolute power. His siblings weren't overly interested however, meaning that Jonathan could only leave the company for small bursts of time before one of them lost complete control.

Soon he took upon the drive of his Grandfather, the passive-aggression of his Mother, and the jokes of his Granduncle. With trains and automobiles going from New York to San Francisco, there was no rest for business and certainly no rest for Jonathan McFadden. Even in his spare time you could find him tinkering with a radio that he claimed never went loud enough, repairing a perfectly fine table leg he said was wobbling, or on top of the dangerous roof of the manor scoping out for loose shingles. He walked the halls of Whipstaff with a screwdriver in his left pocket and a small hammer in the other.

This grand ability (and arguably an obsession) to keep things neat and optimally functional passed on to his four sons, which unfortunately bred their desire to keep them broken and dirty.

***

Stinkie lifted his finger from the drill's trigger and looked at his work in pride. Every single board on the winding staircase had been repaired, every nail and incision made perfectly as if they had never been harmed. If he had sweat glands or a body for that matter, his clothes would be soaked through by now.

"What in the name of disarray did you do?" his eldest brother squawked angrily, descending from the ceiling. "I thought we'd agreed on no messing with the fleshies!"

"We did but I got the urge to fix things." Stinkie dropped the drill and other hardware equipment like they were hot brimstone, accidentally damaging the wood of the banister in the process.

"We're ghosts stink-breath! We like things being not-fixed. What urge could possibly make you want to do the opposite?" Stretch glared at his younger brother, unconvinced that there wasn't multiple stink bombs embedded into the stair case.

"I... remembered somefin' about Dad." Stinkie stared at the ground like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Stretch's scowl fell into a more relaxed state as he caught on what was happening. The middle brother laughed nervously. "Remember when we was small fleshies and he hated these stairs? Every time he got the chance he'd-"

"-Tear it up and still swear there was a creak..."

The two floated there in silence, only the distant sounds of the Doc snoring in his room and Fatso's TV playing a mindless late night crime drama was heard.

"Should we get the bulb-head to re-loosen these things?" Stinkie asked cautiously, twiddling his fingers. Stretch sighed tiredly, running his hand over his face.

"Nah. They'd just get fixed again anyway. Next time we're with the Doc we'll bring up the whole 'cat's in the cradle' thing."

Later that week James Harvey had to embarrassedly dismiss the contractors as a paranormal phenomenon had blown through the house and fixed literally every kink and leaky sink. At first he thought that Casper may have done it but when the friendly ghost was asked, he claimed that he'd done nothing. The Doctor decided to chalk it up to helpful supernatural creatures and never thought for a second that three certain ghosts had hand for craftsmanship.


	3. Barmbrack

The largest of the three beds rocked and creaked with the motion of it's occupant rolling over in his sleep. Fatso was being plagued by dulcet tones and twirling notes as he slumbered. No amount of covering his metaphorical ears could cease the noise. The music even seemed to muffle the sounds of the wonderful storm brewing just outside the bedroom window.

The third McFadden groaned loudly, gaining two muted 'Shaddup's from his dozing brothers. Stinkie and Stretch had been up late for god only knows what. The distant whirls of power tools and banging of a hammer were enough to stir him most upset from his dream land. He'd been dreaming of a long forgotten feast hall he had visited when he reached his 50th year dead, but now ever since the others not-so quietly snuck back into their beds he was pestered by a musical imp and the images of a large roaring fire.

Throwing off his sheets out of habit, Fatso angrily phased through his bed and into the parlor room. Hopefully the echoed thunder reverberating off the walls would drown out his dream music. Parking himself upon a patchy, torn-up sofa, he tucked a round pillow under his head and tried to fall to sleep.

The thunder was definitely much louder in here, but was still being blocked out by an unknown filter in his mind. Even the sound of a tree in the garden toppling over and damaging a large granite statue didn't reach his ears. Nearly growling with rage, Fatso shoved two over stuffed pillows on either side of his head and tried again to fall into his dreamscape.

***

"Man these shin-digs are boring." Stretch (at that time known as Stephen) complained, his eyes following the backs of passing men's suits and women's dresses. "How come we had to go in the first place?"

It was a common situation. Jonathan McFadden would bring his maturing sons to the dinners and parties held by his family and friends. And despite their obvious hatred of such events and demands that they should be allowed to stay at home, the four brothers were powerless to do anything. Monotonous drones of some subdued Mozart piece played in the background as the ball room was filled with a dancing sea of skirts and tailcoats.

"Likely because Father wants to make a good impression upon potential clients." Jonathan-Thomas, or informally "J.T", theorised taking a teetotal sip of wine. "Or their daughters." He then took a much larger swing from his glass, his eyes growing wide with fear.

"The very smell of these gals make me break out. You can't expect me to court one!" Stinkie wheezed, the harsh clouds of lavender, ambergris, and white makeup powder clogging his airways. He had been cursed with a very sensitive pair of lungs and the nostrils to match, making his discomfort very much visible. "If another chick flaps her fan in my face I'm out of here!"

Fatso wasn't paying attention to his siblings' worries. He was milling near the banquet tables, staring at the selection with disdain. Lady's fingers brushed with a very thin coating of sugar, raw Quail eggs meant for cracking over the hot hors d'oeuvre, sliced stalks of cold vegetables doused in vinaigrette, and clear crystal goblets of prawns soaking in a pink cocktail dressing.

He despised all of it.

His family made clear that they were wealthy and enjoyed the finer qualities of life. Even if they in his own opinion were unfulfilling. Foods were the most obvious. No fatty, smooth cut from the head of the bull, no they always needed the leanest shanks or nothing. A full sea bass broiled in an alchemical mixture of herbs while it still breathed sat on a sliver platter every Friday night, but the sight of an oyster or clam turned their heads away. As the bitter and rancid-tasting wine older and worth more than himself burned his throat, all he could beg for was a drop of sweet sharp cider produced down at the lumber mill every autumn night.

"Anything you'd like Master Fredrick?" the mousey voice of the waiter asked, afraid of another shout from an indecisive aristocrat.

"Yes, perhaps directions to where the actual food is kept." He joked, his eyes trailing over the many selections of caviar and roe. "Or a pile of lady's fingers if you can't."

"Very good sir." The waiter chuckled nervously, stacking a plate with the sugary goods. "Normally the cooking and serving staff eat after the banquet. In the grounds by the fruit orchard." His eyes looked pleadingly at the McFadden brother, his face told that the party had gone on for much longer than needed. "But we cannot leave until the guests have left."

Fatso thought this over and held up his hand to pause the waiter. "If the party where to suddenly disperse, would you all be left off? Hypothetically of course."

"Well yes. If the guests where to move into the main hall or parlor, the housemaids would be responsible for the serving of food and drink."

A devious thought wriggled into Fatso's head. Looking over at his brothers, he could see that Stinkie was ready to go mad from the dull music and pestering dancers. "In that case I will also take a glass of kahlua and milk. After that there won't be a person left standing."

He took the large cup and the plate of lady's fingers happily. Weaving his way around the lines of dancing young heiresses and desperate old men, he made his way to his second older brother.

"I tell ya Freddy I can't even taste anything any more." Stinkie squinted to make sure it really was his brother, his eyes were swollen from what was likely an allergic reaction to one of his feminine suitor's perfumes. "That hooch?" He pointed to the cup in desperation. Fatso nodded and didn't even need to offer, the second McFadden brother had gulped down the contents with glee.

Sighing loudly, his nose dripping and red. "That's the ticket! Bring me some more and I might just survive the night."

"But the others won't." Fatso thought evilly, going back to the banquet table with a sinister grin.

The effect was almost instantaneous. Stinkie with his muted taste buds, could not detect the diary in his drink, which unfortunately for any surrounding guests he was intolerant to. It started with a silent passing of gas. He grew more and more uncomfortable as his gut reacted negatively to the lactose intruding his body.

No one could place their finger on it but the exquisite ball room was slowly being choked by an invisible evil. The first to notice was the Master of the House (who's name Fatso had long since forgotten), subtly checking under the tables in case one of his hounds had wandered in. Soon every person, from scullery maid to millionaire were covering their faces and coughing very loudly.

"Everyone!" The Master of the House bellowed from the orchestra platform. "It seems that a fowl odour has seeped into the hall. But no worries! We will continue our merriment in the manor proper."

They didn't have to be told twice. It took only five seconds for the entire hall to spill into the mansion's foyer and into the many social rooms. The other McFadden brothers excused themselves by saying that Stinkie had become ill from the occurrence, all knowing that their brother must have eaten something he wasn't supposed to.

Fatso clapped his hands together in triumph before turning to the befuddled waiting staff. "You said in the fruit orchards correct?" He took a bite of a lady's finger as he enthusiastically helped to clear the tables.

After the plates and left over appetizers were packed neatly onto serving carts to be taken into the mansion proper, Fatso followed the overworked waiters and butlers out into the garden. The grounds were much larger than the ones at Whipstaff, enough so that a private zoo, a stable, and a whole acre of fruit trees were accommodated. At first he only saw the low branches of a very foreign tree that sagged under the weight of it's bright yellow-green fruit, but as they snuck under it he saw a makeshift bonfire had been lit in the heart of the orchard.

"Not many of our employers celebrate Halloween. Master Crittenden merely uses this party to cover his pagan roots." The now invigorated waiter spat on the dirt in disgust, the subject a hot button for him. "And soon we're told that no one in the manor is allowed to celebrate any 'devilish' holidays. Luckily he doesn't count the grounds itself."

Fatso felt rather uncomfortable listening to this. Halloween was always a welcomed holiday in Whipstaff, no doubt from the influence of his Grandmother's Irish pride, but he had heard that many of the more selective families dismissed it as being no more than a pagan feast day. The bonfire roared as more and more waste timber was added, the flames fenced in by large stone slabs around it's base. Four men in ragged robes played loud jaunty folk songs, many of the tunes hailing from Ireland, Wales, Scotland, and countries that Fatso didn't even know existed. Many of the female staff he had seen dressed up in pristine white aprons were now clothed in dark tunics laced with red string.

Taking a cue from the head server, he sat down upon a fallen log, carved so to act as a bench. The first thing to catch his eye was the pretty scullery maid sitting across from him at a picnic table, her dark skin soaking up the orange flames beautifully as she conversed with the stable hand. The McFadden brother blushed embarrassedly, he was helpless when it came to women. More and more people gathered around the fire, some of them he swore must have come from different manor houses. Surely no home needed three head chefs?

He smelled the wonderful feast before he even saw it.

The cooking staff, long frustrated by the dainty preparation of cold appetizers and easily failed dishes, were coming into the orchard with colossal steaming pots of various stews, large baking trays heavy with sweet speckled breads (one type Fatso believed was called Barmbrack), and decanters of, dear lord, the sweet sharp cider produced down at the lumber mill every autumn night. Hell he saw that a few of the mill workers themselves were attending the tiny festival, still in their dusty work clothes.

The moment the tables were set Fatso excitedly waited in line for a small bowl of rich heavenly stew. The beef was fatty and swam with sliced root vegetables in a heavy stock thickened with potatoes. The cooks stared at him in amazement, the son of a well known company head looking at the cider as if it was nectar from the Garden of Eden.

Eating slowly and silently (a first for him) he savoured the way the potatoes almost melted in his mouth, the way he chewed the softened beef, and he nearly reached nirvana as he finally consumed the long overdue cider. After he had licked the bowl clean he declared loudly "That was the best meal I've ever had!"

The staff clapped in reply, the three cooks puffing out their chests like large proud wood pigeons, hiding their delight at the compliment. He joined in with the small group of dancers by the fire, all re-enacting an odd jig that initially caused him to fall on his behind. Laughing off the slight pain in his backside, he was able to lose himself among the crowd after he was quickly taught the correct steps by the very same scullery maid that had sat across from him during his meal.

Finally as the bowls were cleared away, the speckled bread, still hot from being kept near the fire, was portioned out in large slabs and passed along to each person. Fatso couldn't refuse when he had been gifted with a particularly large slice. They ate as they talked, their worries and woes of their lives had all but vanished under the half moon. Fatso thought to himself "This is what the fine things in life are all about."

Then he bit into the metal hidden in his slice.

"Ow!" He yelped, pulling his mouth away from his plate. At first he thought it was a cruel joke placed upon him by a spiteful worker. But when he inspected the piece, he realised that he had found the silver coin. According to his Grandmother finding the coin baked into the bread meant that the recipient was meant for great fortune and wealth, and of course she had rigged it every year so that she got the coin. Now that he was actually holding it in his hand, the McFadden wondered, he already had wealth and it was only through good fortune that he met these wonderful people.

He didn't really need the coin.

Mustering all of his courage he walked over to where the scullery maid was sitting and stood awkwardly in front of her. She and her companions looked up in surprise as he placed the warm silver disc into her palm.

Bowing slightly he said with all of his courage and eloquence. "I do not need the good fortune this coin brings as my eyes found you before I found it." He blushed a purple-red, no matter how much he tried to impress a lady he would panic at the last moment. He couldn't understand how Stretch kept himself calm and collected when he flirted shamelessly with girl after girl after man. The maid and her friends laughed in a joking manner, at first Fatso was convinced that he'd completely blown it, but the warmth spreading across on his lips told him otherwise.

Before he could even recover from the kiss, a loud voice loomed over the hill.

"Hey Fatso! We're packing up and going home!" Stretch screech reached all over the orchard ground, finding the younger McFadden as he found heaven. Silently cursing his older brother, Fatso shouted his goodbyes and galloped away so that the bonfire was merely a light in the distance. He collided with Stretch as he reached the top of the hill.

"The hell where you all evening?" The eldest McFadden was looking extremely disheveled, his hair was a mess and dark rings of tiredness lined the bottom of his eyes.

"I ate with the workers, I was only gone for a few minutes." he explained breathlessly, his suit jacket barely holding onto his shoulders.

Stretch stared at him like he'd gone mad. "You Dim-brain! It's past one in the morning! You've been missing for hours. Dad was thinking about sending out a search party."

Fatso blinked confusedly. "Hours? Guess time flies by when you're having fun."

"Glad you had a great time." Stretch's voice dripped with sarcasm. "But Stinkie almost gassed himself to death and dad keeps trying to pair me up with some sixteen year old airhead. You know how many socialites I can take before I crack?"

As the two brother made their way to their family carriage, Fatso relaid what happened during his night in the orchard. Stretch slapped him proudly on the back when he'd mentioned that he got a kiss from a pretty girl, and then cackled loudly when he learnt that she was charmed by such a corny line. As Stretch and J.T conversed about a girl they had met during a game of charades and Stinkie had fallen asleep against the window, Fatso sunk into the seating of the carriage, ready to take on tomorrow as if it was nothing.

When he got home and fell into a soundless sleep, a horrible thought met him the next morning. "That maid... I never even asked for her name."

The make-shift Halloween party was discovered by The Master of The House the very next week. Firing nearly every single member of staff and employing much a more obedient (and non-pagan) work force, he had eliminated any chance of the younger McFadden contacting his new found friends. Or the the chance to share such fine memories and barmbrack with such fine people ever again.

***

A sharp tap on his shoulder made the large spook nearly jump out of his skin (if he had any). Looking around for intruders, he only saw Casper, standing close by and holding a tray of food.

"Uncle Fatso are you okay?" he asked sweetly, giving a small smile. "You were thrashing around for quite a while."

"I was?" He wondered, trying to decipher the sights and sounds his dream had conjured up. "What time is it?"

"Nearly one in the afternoon. You and the others must have been up late last night right?" the young ghost inquired, placing the tray down on the coffee table. The tray was piled high with doughnuts, bagels, and other sweet items that were more suited to desert than breakfast. Fatso for what ever reason, began to feel a strange form of disgust towards the plate of food and had something else in mind.

As Casper began to float away, Fatso held out his hand and said:

"Wait a minute short-sheet."

"Yeah?" His ever dutiful nephew answered, his ghostly head poking out from the parlor door. Something in the older ghost tugged painfully, as if the servants from his dream had manifested in front of him.

"What if we both go down into town get some raisin bread. I got a mighty hankering for it." He patted his stomach to emphasis his point, completely ignoring the tray on the table. As he passed by he placed his hand on his nephew's head as if he was tousling the hair that once laid there. Casper stood wide eyed at the sudden display of tenderness and wondered if Uncle Fatso was still half-asleep.

"How come?" he asked cautiously, expecting a counter active answer but was only given a simple:

"No reason. Just thought about it."


	4. Less than Picturesque

Kat and Casper came across the photographs when they were searching the attic for decorations, as Christmas was creeping closer and closer. After getting more than enough clouds of dust puffed into her face, Kat was considering just going down to the store for some new ones. Then a wayward toy car fell of it's perch and hit something with a loud _**clunk!**_

The sound directed her to the ground where, hidden under a handkerchief was a large metal jewellery box. At least that was what it looked like. It was cube-shaped and looked more like a glamoured toolbox than anything you'd keep your gold and rubies in. Lifting it up, she was surprised to find that it was much lighter than expected and had very crude lettering engraved onto it.

"Property of Stewart 'Stinkie' McFadden. DO NOT TOUCH"

Beneath that in much smaller text was :

"That means YOU you nosey person"

Kat let out a small laugh. Although the Trio did get on her nerves, she was greatly amused by their antics. Whatever was in this ancient box was likely either a trove of boyhood toys, unusually shaped nature items such as rocks or sticks, or - because it was belonging to Stinkie - a couple hundred dung bombs.

Lifting the rusted latch just a small bit, she went in nose first to confirm whether or not the second ghost's toys were as pungent as expected. She was confused (and very relieved) when she detected no horrid smells of any sort but a faint whiff of must and chemicals. Pushing the lid all the way up she saw what was likely hundreds of tiny dark pockets. More puzzled than ever, she picked one up and slid it's contents delicately into the the palm of her hand.

It was a photograph.

Now a photograph is very normal thing. The photo itself depicted three young men and a very small child at a fairground, and despite being ridiculously well-preserved; the background was blurry due to the amount of motion going on. But what disturbed the young lady was the sheer number of the thin pockets simply resting in the box. It was likely that every single one of them was a photo of the related to the four ghosts.

Looking at the fairground image again, she could make out that the three young men all had certain facial features that she recognised instantly. The tallest sported a comically large nose, to his right was a wild looking man with buck teeth, and to the tallest's left was a soft face man with a nearly spherical body. It was no doubt, these were the Trio in their prime. They didn't look bad either, although they looked just as strange and cartoonish as she knew them. The addition of skin, hair, and clothing was probably an attractive feature. The beaming little boy standing in front of course would have to be a certain friendly ghost when he was smaller. From the look on his face, the child was having a hard time standing still.

"What did you find?"

Her heart leaped into her throat and she almost dropped the photo.

"Casper!" She replied breathlessly. "I told not to sneak up on me like that. Did you find the Christmas decorations?"

The child ghost held a small wooden box in his pale arms. Smiling triumphantly, he showed off a few very beautiful bobbles and ornaments that were made of spun glass. "Yeah! I thought all of these were broken years ago! They survived pretty well." He leaned over and got a good look at what was in his friend's hand.

"Me and my uncles?" His voice became softer than usual and he stared at the metal case in astonishment. "You found Uncle Stinkie's picture chest!

"His what?" Kat raised an eyebrow. Going by the four ghosts' expiration dates, they wouldn't have been around for most of the photography medium. "You mean you had Polaroids back then?"

"Well, not really." Casper scratched the back of his neck embarrassedly. "My Grandfather made a camera that worked on the same principal but it was really heavy and the materials were really expensive. I guess he saw it as a failure and never did anything with it."

"Then how come there's so many?"

This left the ghost momentarily confused. There was certainly a lot of photographs, but Casper remembered that the chemicals used to develop the photos were ridiculously expensive and would have bankrupted any lesser man.

Casper shrugged in reply, placing the photo back into it's pocket. "I guess beyond rare and smelly cheeses, it was the only thing Stinkie sunk his money into. He knew my Grandfather wouldn't mind if he kept it."

Kat looked at the box thoughtfully, her interests piqued. It sure would be a hoot to see what the Trio were like when they were still kicking. Raising a dark brow she asked nonchalantly. "You got a projector anywhere?"

***

As it turned out they did have a projector. It was sitting under another huge pile of dust nearby. Some of it's parts were rusted and overworked but it looked like it was up for the challenge. Carefully carrying it down along with the Christmas decorations, Kat wondered why the damn thing was so heavy. One small trip and she would have a ton of tin on her chest. Casper followed behind, struggling with the large chest of pictures in addition to the decorations.

"Hey Bucket, find any decorations?" her father turned the corner with a chipped pink mug of cocoa steaming in his hands. His smile wavered when he saw what was in her arms. Wiping a finger across the relic's filthy chassis he frowned. "I don't think this one is going on the tree."

Kat snickered loudly, which turned into a sharp wave of sneezes as the dust on the machine was disturbed. After her body had calmed down she explained in a wheezy tone. "Me and Casper found a bunch of old photos upstairs. Apparently they were all taken by Stinkie."

James stared thoughtfully at his cocoa. The therapy sessions, at first fruitful, had run dry and quickly reverted back to as they were when they had started. He supposed it was that he had counted on the Trio opening up to him gradually, but being themselves they pretended as if nothing happened. Scrunching up his face he decided that even something as casual as family photographs could help the process along.

"I'll go get a sheet to use as a screen." Kissing the top of Kat's head he turned to the young ghost and asked. "Casper is it okay that I invite your Uncles? I'm sure that they'll enjoy it."

Casper furrowed his invisible brow and gave a reluctant nod. "Okay, but I'll have to prepare the snacks beforehand."

With a shared nod and a smile, Dr Harvey walked off to grab a clean sheet from the laundry. When he got there he found three certain apparitions riffling through his underwear and using scissors to cut his clothing into risqué shapes. He decided to confront them with this in a later session.

***

After some careful persuasion that left the brothers angrily cursing the Doctor from their seats, the slide-show was ready to begin. The Trio had agreed to come, believing that it was a slide-show about the Harvey family and had only shown up when Casper offhandedly mentioned popcorn.

"Uncle Stinkie?" Casper asked his second uncle, who turned to him with a bored expression. "Remember this?" He held out the picture chest dramatically, watching as the flashbulb memory kicked in.

"Holy hell!" The ghost exclaimed, a massive buck toothed grin stretching across his face. "I remember Dad giving me the camera when I was fifteen!" His eyes narrowed suspiciously and glared even harder at his nephew. "You didn't peek in did'ya?"

"No sir!" Casper swore, doing mock salute. Of course he didn't take a peak. Kat was the one who opened it after all. Gesturing to the projector, he asked. "You still remember how to use this?"

"This is gonna be a riot." Stretch muttered under his breath, already digging into the popcorn.

Stinkie got the projector working within in seconds. After a vigorous blast of dust, photo pockets and at some point a naked flame, the machine was roaring and ready for use. Stinkie pawed through the many rows of images, stopping abruptly at particularly old looking one. Slipping it in fast enough that the edges creased, Stinkie embarrassedly straighten it out before he continued.

***

"Darling, are you sure it's safe?" the young woman asked her new husband, looking fearfully at the contraption. Her relatives were off to the sides, afraid that the damned thing would steal their souls. Her groom had convinced her to let one of his inventions join in the festivities but had no idea what it could be.

"Don't worry love." The McFadden smiled softly, kissing the top of her head. "If it works we'll have an ever lasting memory of this day." Sharing a mutual beam of happiness, the couple turned their heads to look straight on at the metal oddity.

"Don't move for ten minutes love." He whispered through gritted teeth.

***

The image was filthy with large brown holes at the edges, unable to escape the clutches of time like it's descendants and depicted a young man and woman at a wedding. The brothers gasped as they recognised the couple immediately.

"That's Dad!" Fatso blurted out, ignoring as his bag of cookies fell onto the coffee table. "He's got the 'stache and everything!"

"Yeah..." Stretch eyed the picture, seemingly in deep thought. The bride in the photo must have been their mother but something was very off about her. "Don't remember Ma having her hair that light though."

"She dyed it a lot after she'd greyed early, 'member?" Stinkie shrugged, flipping through the chest for an other significant photo. Quite a few were experimental snaps of nature scenes and accidental recordings, particularly from a period where the camera had been stuck under a couch cushion and snapped whenever somebody sat down. At least the McFadden's can boast that they got a photo of the governor's behind.

Stinkie never had the heart to get rid of them, even if they were terrible. Some weird sentimental value overtook whenever he attempted to dump them. Gliding his fingers over the back row, he pulled out a photo that jogged a very hilarious memory.

***

"Sapphire..." The nervous young man stuttered, wringing his hands so that his dress shirt was a mass of wrinkles. He was suddenly very aware of his naked upper lip. Damn his brothers! They had crept into his bed chambers as he dreamt of this very moment and had stealthily shaven his face bare. He now looked so much younger than usual, making his status as the youngest brother even more obvious. "I've been meaning to ask you something."

His beloved, his precious jewel, lifted her head and raised a questioning brow. "What ever could it be that irks you so?"

"Well I had been ruminating upon this for a while and I believe it is time." He pulled the small black box from his coat pocket and heard the sharp gasp exit his soon-to-be Bride's mouth. Balancing himself on one knee he popped the question. "Will you marry me?"

The very second she said "Yes", three very loud and very drunk men came bursting through the door to the garden. All three had been spying on the event and had planned their actions ahead of time. Trailing behind them was countless numbers of balloons, streamers, and confetti.

"Congratulations JT!" Stretch bellowed loudly as if he was presenting his brother with an award. He used an upturned beer bottle as a pretend microphone, rapidly leaning it back and forth between the couple. "You are officially the first McFadden to get hitched in this generation. Tell me brother, how do ya feel?"

"Well Stretch I feel ver- HEY WAIT A MOMENT!" Breaking out of the jest, JT launched himself at his eldest brother, grappling him to the ground as Fatso and Sapphire danced gaily around a topiary. Unbeknownst to all was that Stinkie had snuck his camera out and had timed the shutter to go off within seconds.

The loud **click** went off as the second brother dove right into the rough-housing. JT demanded that he'd burn the photo but Stinkie claimed that he had lost it and laughed every time he retrieved it from it's hiding place.

***

This photograph was in much better condition than it's predecessor but had poor contrast, almost leaving the background in a flare of white. It depicted two men currently in a massive fist fight with one about to join, his form caught blurred mid-air. A young woman and a larger man had linked arms and were dancing around a large garden plant. A tornado of confetti was blown around them and at the right-most edge peeked the outline of a balloon.

The moment it graced the screen, all apparitions collapsed into echoing cackles, Casper included. It became so intense that the poltergeists fell onto the floor and started to squirm and writhe as more waves of laughter followed. It caught the Harvey's by surprise. From their perspective it was a jumble of craziness, although typical of the Trio it was still very confusing.

"Oh God!" Stretch wiped away a tear, still laughing incessantly. "That was a crazy afternoon!"

"What happened?" Kat smirked, the ghosts' laughter becoming infectious.

"Okay, okay..." Fatso took a deep breath, trying to temper his own bellows. "Basically we learned that JT was gonna propose to his gal."

"That being my mom." Casper added from his place on the floor.

"And we thought "Hey, if our baby brother is getting married before all of us, we should at least make it memorable". So we shaved off his 'stache and got hammered just before he took the arrow in the knee. Guess he weren't too happy."

"He broke my arm in the melee." Nodded the eldest brother, his face shifting into something more sincere. "Always knew he had it in him."

From there the six continued analysing the photos. Stinkie manned the projector, choosing from how much sentimentality he got from them. Some were hilarious (such as the Trio engaging in some childhood mischief), some were more somber (their father in his later years relaxing by the fireplace), others were just plain odd (Stinkie swore that he'd never seen that prison cell before), and predictably some were shots of smelly objects (nicely plated cheeses and a swarm of dung beetles for example).

As the hours ticked away and the chest became lighter and lighter, Stinkie began fiddling with a secret compartment inside the chest's lid. Pulling out a few pockets larger than before, he froze in place as he slid a solitary photo free.

"Hey Stink!" Stretch's voice broke the barrier, shaking in fist impatiently. "I was nearly enjoying myself here."

The middle brother shook his head free of paralysis and explained. "A few years before I went stiff Dad taught me how to add colour to these things. 'Course it was even more expensive than usual and I had to sell my first car to make one of these...". He stopped short, silently placing the image into it's place in the projector. Every one gasped.

***

"Is he all right?" Sapphire whispered, her energy completely drained. She attempted to sit up, only for gravity and tiredness to pull her back down.

"All right?" the young man asked brashly, clutching the newborn in his blood soaked sleeves. "He's better than all right! He's a McFadden ain't he?" He looked down at the child and grinned widely. The poor kid was a month too early (much like himself he pondered) and was so thin that he was damn near see-through. And all he could swaddle the poor thing in was his dinner coat.

Sapphire had slipped into labour that night with nobody, not even her good-for-nothing midwife present, and had to give birth in the unheated unclean bedroom of her brother in-laws with only a single unskilled man to assist her. It was a surprise that she was still hanging on.

"Hey bro, you disappeared and Dad's wondering if- AAH!" Fatso shrieked, startling the two adults and disturbing the baby. The tiny pink face screwed into an awful frown and let out a blood curdling cry. Stinkie swiftly followed the noise down the hall and gave an equally loud yell when reached the room and saw the amount of blood staining the sheets.

"Good job numskulls! You woke up Junior here!" Stretch scolded, briefly forgetting his volume. He rocked the newborn slowly, muttering an old Irish lullaby under his breath. The cries gradually weakening until he was able to turn to his brothers and ask. "Go tell dad he's a grandpa and tell that useless brother of ours to get his cowardly ass up here. Oh! And Stinkie get your camera, I don't wanna forget this."

The second McFadden brother sped off, wobbling from nausea and shock. Had he'd stayed a few seconds longer he would have captured the rare sight of his older brother giving a genuine smile.

***

"What... happened?" Dr Harvey was the first to react, instantly focusing on the large splotches of red marring the crisp white clothing of the couple and worried that the image depicted a murder. A woman with white-blonde hair lay on a grey mattress, red soaking her skirt and sheets. The young skinny man with brown hair was partly obscured as his face was directed towards whatever was in the small black bundle supported by the two's arms. Though he would have to hand it to Stinkie, the colour usage in the photo was immaculate.

"That's me!" Casper gasped, pointing a translucent finger at the bundle. "That's my Mom and Dad when I was born!" The young ghost's eyes were flushed with excitement that he was unable to contain. Holding his arms close to his body, he feared that he may just combust from sheer glee.

The eldest McFadden coughed awkwardly, directing his eyes away from his nephew. "That ain't JT kid. That's me." The other five turned to him with confused stares, hundreds of possibilities swimming through their heads on what it implied.

"I... Grandpa told me that my Dad was there." the friendly ghost said, his voice trailing off into befuddlement.

Stretch cleared his voice, more uncomfortable that ever. "Look Short-sheet. Your Dad was there at the start sure, I had to drag him away from a party to do so. But when the blood and various fluids started flowing he ran out the room and straight into the john." He took a generous gulp of whatever was in his glass and wiped his mouth bitterly, his voice becoming more venomous with each syllable. "And I couldn't just leave her. Oh no instead of grabbing the matron I stupidly decided to stay. Just in case if she had one of her panic attacks I could help. I stayed longer than I should of and I ended up bringing you into the world."

The room became colder than normal. The youngest ghost was in a state trying to absorb all of the new information. The living persons were staring at their shoes, feeling like they had intruded on a personal matter.

Fatso was the first to speak up. "JT never did like talking about it. Said it made him feel... emasculated. I mean if I ran out on my kid's birth cus I had to hurl, I'd be pretty damn embarrassed." He fumbled over his words, remembering how his younger brother demanded that no word should be spoken about it.

"Plus your Ma's rep was at stake too." Stinkie mentioned idly, beginning to tidy up the loose photographs. "Ladies weren't supposed to pop with only the brother-in-law present. Had word got out that Stretch here was the midwife, you'd bet that some prissy socialite would start spreading slander."

"Like what?" Casper dared to ask.

"Like you might be a bastard like Stretch."

The phrase was so casual, so blunt that Casper swore that he felt his long-gone heart skip a beat. "A what?" He replied, suddenly seething with anger. It wasn't like him to get angry for no reason, but the implication of the phrase sent shockwaves straight to his nerves.

Stinkie must have noticed this and deliberately rolled his eyes at the spook's distemperment. "It's not like that Short-sheet! Look Stretch was born earlier than he was supposed to. 'Course this caused rumours that maybe our Ma was... looser than everyone thought. Ruined any chance of her making friends for a long time."

"They only really accepted her after I came around." Fatso confirmed, recalling a gaggle of pastel-dressed ladies that bombarded their Mother every afternoon. Turning to Casper he stated. "Course when the same thing happened to **_your_** Ma..."

"That's pretty unfair." Kat interjected, arms folded across her chest. "Not to mention stupid. Babies are born premature all the time, how come they thought it meant that the girl was unfaithful?"

"It's part of the time period they grew up in. People relied on assumptions more then they'd admit." Her father explained, his cocoa long since lost it's warmth. "Traditionally if the couple conceives on the wedding night and the babe is born earlier than nine months after the wedding, it caused many to suspect that something was awry. In other words, potentially conceived out of wedlock. Hence the term; bastard."

The eternal twelve year old was almost shaking with anger, his eyes glowing red and spit frothing at the sides of his mouth. He was exuding an aura of scariness that would have made the Trio proud had it not been for the subject matter. Realising that a tantrum was imminent Stretch dove forward, grabbing the shorter spook by the scruff of his neck and shaking him until the livid atmosphere settled.

"Listen Bulb-head!" he snapped. "Your Ma never got the same treatment as ours. We made sure of that. Any pompous jackass making comments behind her back got thrown to the dogs. So it ain't something to get steamed about. Capisce?"

Casper, now mellowed out, nodded limply. His little burst of anger really taking it out of him. "Sorry for getting mad there. It's just that when Uncle Stinkie said... that word I just got so... _**so**_ angry."

The therapist thought over the new information carefully before expressing his opinion. "Perhaps your reaction is a remnant of your past life? Another may have called you it, even indirectly when you were still alive. I'd imagine that it would invoke the same response."

"I guess... I get some weird nightmares sometimes, well now that I think about it they might be memories, I'm not sure." He was tripping over his words, trying not to be scared by his own recollections. "I see a very tall man with a handlebar moustache and a woman with dark hair and a blue dress sitting in giant armchairs."

"Ma wore blue dresses all the time." Fatso mumbled, still digging up knowledge of their dear mother.

***

"Dear do you really think it's fair on Jonathan-Thomas to rob him of his son?" The woman spat venomously, furiously knitting oversized blue booties for the babe shuffling in his bassinet on the floor.

The man, the one with the handlebar moustache, argued right back at her. "We do not even know if the child is even his to begin with! Look at those eyes!" He jabbed a finger dangerously close to the boy's violet-blue spheres. "Those are not a trait of your family, nor mine!"

"All babes have blue eyes, it is simply some are more oddly coloured. Besides Sapphire would be so distraught if she lost him." The woman scowled when she realised that most of the baby clothes were now the wrong colour, after all they had been expecting a girl and everyone knew blue was a dainty and delicate colour.

The man grunted like an annoyed boar. "Girl has been on her last legs for a while, doubt her nor the boy will survive till Spring."

***

"And they'd keep going back and forth on how I didn't belong in the house and that I should be just... dumped, like as if I were trash or something. I can't do anything but watch them as they talk and just as the guy with the moustache goes for me, another person, I think my dad, comes in and carries me out of the room. End of dream."

***

"Mother, Father?" An uncharacteristically formal man entered the room. His raunchy tongue and crude humour belonging well away from his parent's ears and he preferred to keep it that way. "Have you seen Casper? JT is tearing the workshop apart looking for him."

The older couple took upon a sweeter tone as their eldest drew near. Mother was the first to comment. "It is so bitterly cold today! We brought him in here so he wouldn't get a chill like in that draughty workshop."

The son nodded obediently, internally glaring at his parents. He knew perfectly well what they were doing. His father's arm was poised to make a grab at the child's head while the fear in his mother's eyes told him that the intention was violent. He walked in on the same ritual when a cousins' son was born, he was graced with darker skin than his parents and needless to say he hasn't been seen since. Walking over with a stride gained from years of dodging verbal and literal bombardment, he picked up the bassinet and strode out the door like the room caught fire.

***

The room became quieter after Casper finished his tale. The previous aura of anger was now replaced with melancholy. It now became clear that although the four ghosts retained some very fond memories of their lives, they also harboured some not-so fond ones as well. The most controversial seemed to be caused by Lord and Lady McFadden, if the implications of adultery and child abandonment were to be taken with a grain of salt.

"I think." James rose to his feet calmly, still holding his mug of cocoa. "This is enough strenuous activity for today. I'll help clean up the mess."

Kat and three of the ghosts floated away gloomily, Stinkie staying behind to sort his photographs back into the box. Dr Harvey figured that any of them wouldn't want to be disturbed for the night. As he began taking down the white bed sheet from it's place on the wall, he heard Stinkie grumbling confusedly at one of the coloured photos.

"Doc! Don't take that down yet."

"What's wrong?"

The second McFadden brother stared intensely at the photo, suddenly grabbing a handful of the other coloured ones and flicking his eyes over all of them. "I knew Stretch meant something, I didn't think he mean this!" He jammed the offending image into the projector, anger and confusion irradiating off his form.

The photo was relatively normal. Downright pleasant even.

A young man with a handlebar moustache stood next to a woman sitting primly in a garden chair as two toddlers were restrained by their parent's arms. The colours were amazing, taking advantage of the Spring-time flora in the garden and highlighting the features of the people. It was one of the most nicely shot photos the doctor had ever seen. He couldn't really understand why it vexed the ghost so much.

"Ma had green eyes." Stinkie stated in a stony voice, pointing his finger at the woman, the same one from the old wedding photo, and scowled. "She has purple ones. Like Stretch."

"Oh. Oh!" Was all that James could express. He was getting a vague idea of what was happening. "Is there a noticeable shift in the photographs?"

Stinkie shuffled the photos like a deck of cards, replacing the one in the projector with a later shot. "This one was taken after Fatso was born and shows her with the green eyes we know. But this one." He swapped it out again with a bit more urgency. "Before Fatso was born, shows her with purple."

The two were left silent for a while afterwards. There were other features that differed between the women. The one with purple eyes had lighter hair and sharper features that could be easily associated with the eldest McFadden brother, while the second woman had softer features and much smaller build more closer to the forth.

"Stinkie, did your father remarry?"

"What? Heck no! The one with green eyes has always been Ma. But... " he trailed off, expressing as much assurance as possible. His eyes wavered over to the first photo. "I always wondered how come JT looked so different."

Dr Harvey hummed thoughtfully before concluding. "Never made him any less of your brother. It was very common for widowers to marry a relative of their deceased wife. It was a means of keeping the family fortunes tied together. It's likely that your father never mentioned it because he didn't want to upset you."

The spook sighed, tiredly putting away the photos back into their chest. He would have to approach his brothers on the revelation later. "Well this was a peachy. Look at some photos and suddenly we're on an episode of Maury." he muttered, packing the last of the photographs into their pockets.

As the white sheet was removed for a second time, Dr Harvey bid farewell to the McFadden brother and was about to go into the kitchen to heat up some more cocoa when he heard a muted voice behind him.

"It was nice though... I don't remember as much as the others. Stretch remembers lots because he was so angry at his life. Fatso was such a Momma's boy it's no wonder that he'd remember every detail 'bout her. But I... don't remember a lot. I guess other than playing with my brothers I had a rather uneventful life. I remember these photos though. I remember every single one of 'em."

James breathed deeply in empathy. "You life was plenty eventful. Your photos show it. It's just that you have a harder time recollecting than your brothers." He saw Stinkie's head drop in an unusual display of vulnerability and asked. "Do you want some cocoa?"

Although unable to consume the hot drink, the ghost happily followed him to the kitchen.


	5. First Words, First Impressions

That night a certain ghost tossed around in his bedsheets.

 

Stinkie was downstairs with the Doc, claiming that he needed to “Get something off my chest before I get nightmares 'bout it.” Stretch had scoffed, Stinkie had slept through worse night terrors in the past, what made tonight so special?

 

Fatso had surprisingly retreated into the parlor (after it had been cleared of course) to watch an episode of some cheesy cop-drama with the kids. His younger brother had become strangely... friendly to Casper and Kat as of recent but what was causing it he couldn't put his finger on.

 

Stretch McFadden wasn't a man who let small things bother him, at least ones he couldn't readily scare away. But those photos... His brothers' moods changing for no good reason...

 

His face screwed into a painful expression, a long distant memory of bloodied sheets and deathly pale skin ravaging his mind. He remembered Casper's mother so readily after seeing her face again in those photos, but far too many memories were flooding back to him at once.

 

He had a good relationship with her he knew that much. Hell, he seemed to even prefer her over the flesh-and-blood she had married. JT was more of a placeholder than a husband to her.

 

Hell, half the time people mistook _him_ for her husband.

 

“Even her son...” he mumbled tiredly, trying to go to sleep.

 

And with that stray thought Stretch's mind exploded with memories.

 

***

 

Out of all the McFadden brothers, Stephen, also known as Stretch, was the one to spend the most time with his infant nephew.

 

On one hand it wasn't surprising, Stretch was the first one JT called whenever he went off on a business trip, trusting that his eldest brother could do a better job than a nanny or even the boy's own mother. And Stretch would always agree if not only to stroke his massive ego.

 

As a result Stretch found himself staying overnight at Whipstaff just to put the squirming infant to sleep, keeping a neutral expression as sharp fingernails and empty gums did their best to fight him off.

 

And although he would never admit it, the eldest McFadden brother did in fact enjoy watching over the babe, from the way his tiny chest rose and fell in rhythm with the bedside clock to the way he rolled around aimlessly on the carpet. To a stranger, this would be indistinguishable from a caring, nurturing father, watching over his young, promising to protect his offspring at any cost.

 

On the other hand, Stretch hadn't a nurturing bone in his whole body.

 

He'd growl rather than coo as spittle dripped onto his shoulder. Would simply give up trying to shovel green mush into the infant's mouth and instead toss him a ham bone to gnaw his teething mouth upon. And when his nephew started the long process of learning how to walk, he heckled him more than he praised.

 

Playtime was ultimately one sided, with the babe enthusiastically pushing a rubber ball across the library floor, his uncle's only contribution being to tap the toy away with his foot, giving him a solid minute alone with his book as the child scrambled to repeat the action over and over again.

 

So it to was to everyone confusion when during a balmy summer's day in 1901, Casper McFadden's first words were given to his eldest uncle.

 

“What do you mean you're not coming home!?” Stretch all but shouted at the receiver, the wall-mounted telephone straining as it's cord was dragged around the parlor. Casper sat in the middle of the floor, marvelling at a stain on the carpet.

 

“Stephen, I can explain...” The stern yet somehow mousey voice of JT McFadden wavered out of the ear piece.

 

“No! Look, You can't just drop everything and leave the bulb-head every time you get sick of him!He barely even recognises your face anymore!” Stretch waited for his little brother to answer, glancing at the almost one-and-a-half year old infant rolling around his feet. He smiled as the babe tried and failed to get up onto his feet, still not having mastered the art of walking like others his age. “Practice makes perfect bulb-head.” He commented with a small smile before his brother's saddened voice drifted back into his ear.

 

“Look Stephen, I know this is a great burden on you but my co-workers are insisting that I stay for even one more weekend. The west coat is just so beautiful... I'm hoping to bring Sapphire here for our anniversary.”

 

The elder brother rubbed the bridge of his nose and grimaced. Bringing up the boy's mother always made him give in. A young woman, as fierce as a blizzard and frail as a flower. She had fallen into a cycle of illness and recovery ever since her son's birth and even at that moment was upstairs, sleeping off whatever poison the doctor had spoon-fed her that morning.

 

With a long, angry sigh Stretch finally answered. “ **Fine**. But remember, I'm doing this for **them**. Not for you.”

 

JT's relief could be felt over the phone. “Thank you so very much brother! You have no idea how much-”

 

“Go hIfreann leat!” Stretch spat, the Gaelic swear rolling off his tongue more gracefully than any English one. With that he slammed the receiver back into it's place on the wall, running his hand through his light brown hair and sighing deeply.

 

It was then that he was reminded of the presence by his feet. Casper sat there, his massive blue eyes staring upwards in confusion. With another sigh the tall man said jokingly. “Don't tell your Ma where you learnt that. Don't think she'll appreciate me teaching ya how to cuss in a different language. Though it would be pretty hilarious.”

 

“Mhm mhm!” the babe garbled, trying to mimic his uncle.

 

“Finally moved on consonants have we?” Stretch chuckled, scooping his nephew off the floor before heading to the kitchen for lunch. “Took you long enough. I was talking within the first few months of life, try to catch up will ya?”

 

The babe continued babbling, sounding off “p” and “f” noises with his lips.

 

“Heck even Stinkie was spouting off words at your age, though it was mostly his name. I remember shoving building blocks in his mouth because he just wouldn't shut up.” He rambled, seating the child on his high chair.

 

With that Stretch went about making himself lunch, a behemoth of a snack, using up every possible ingredient stored in the icebox. He kept talking as he piled on layer after layer of ham and cheese to his meal.

 

“Ain't like anyone's gonna eat it.” he smiled devilishly, handing the kid a hunk of bread to chew on. “Your Ma's on a strict 'no fun diet' and your Dad's off _galavanting_ in San-Fran-something or somewhere with a bunch of cocktail drinking white-collars. Plus I doubt you could even fit your mouth around this.”

 

“D... d... da... “ Casper stuttered, trying to form a clear word.

 

His uncle's eyes widened, pausing his sandwich-making to listen in. “Oh? Are we at a breakthrough here? Oh man I should bring your Ma down for this.” He laughed as the babe continued to struggle, the “d” sound not cooperating with him. Eventually Stretch got bored and began digging into his meal “Don't strain yourself bulb-head. Your Dad will have my ass if you pull a muscle.”

 

“Dad.”

 

_Silence._

 

The young man's mouth seized around his bite, his pupils slowly turning to land on the child sitting next to him. The sandwich fell from his hands and straight onto the floor.

 

“What?” he choked, ignoring his dropped lunch.

 

“Dad!” The babe said louder, looking very proud of himself.

 

Stretch leaped from his seat, lifting his nephew into the air. “Holy applesauce! You actually said something! An actual word!” He twirled them around in a dance, the babe repeating the word through childish giggles. “Oh wait till JT hears about this. Missed out on his son's first word for a tan. Saph! Get down here! Something amazing happened!” He shouted upwards, hearing his sister-in-law scrambling from her bedsheets and arguing loudly with the nursemaid.

 

He had to tell Stinkie and Fatso first, the amount of gloating he could do was endless. He grinned evilly, thinking of the many ways to torment his youngest brother over this.

 

Until he felt a tiny hand press into his cheek.

 

Stopping dead in his tracks, his body went still as his nephew leaned forward and rested his head on his chest, already tired out from such a milestone. He was growing sleepier by the second, not having a whole lot of energy in the first place.

 

Then the kid dropped the bombshell.

 

“Dad.”

 

Violet eyes widened in horror.

 

“Dad.“

 

“No... “ Stretch found himself muttering quietly, suddenly not wanting to gloat about this anymore. “N- no Casper, I'm your Uncle Stretch remember? Your Dad's off in California with some pencil-pushers and he'll be back in a few days.”

 

“Dad.” The babe held onto the man's shirt tighter, his tiny fist feeling more like a vice grip.

 

“No... no... “ Stretch was horrified to find that his lip was wobbling and his chest was aching, trying to keep whatever volatile emotion he was brewing at bay. “Please god no... Don't do this to me Casp...”

 

“Stephen?” An angelic voice filled the manor, coming down from the stairs and floating into the kitchen. A nursemaid followed behind it, scolding the young mother for being out of bed in her condition. “What is going on?”

 

There standing in the doorway and in her nightclothes was Sapphire, Casper's mother. Her fair, almost ghostly presence seemed to take up the whole room. Not having heard a peep from her absent husband, she looked at Stretch with anxious, almost pleading eyes, hoping he had some good news.

 

The tall man carefully swallowed his fear and answered in a quite tone. “I was... just on the phone with JT... Casper heard his voice and called him Dad.”

 

A smile bright enough to blind God himself overtook her face. Scooping her son into her arms she cooed and praised him, gasping as he repeated the signature “Dad” phrase to her. “Did you now? Oh my intelligent little boy! My smart wonderful boy! Already recognising your father.” She peppered his mostly-bald head in kisses, sauntering into the parlor, presumably off to boast to all of her friends about it on the phone. Before she could completely disappear she looked back and smiled at her brother-in-law. “Thank you for telling me Stephen. JT will be so excited to hear about this!”

 

“I sure he will Saph.“ He smiled back, using up every drop of his willpower to not let his voice crack. “He's gonna be so happy when he hears him talking.”

 

With that the parlor doors closed, leaving the eldest McFadden boy alone with his thoughts.

 

Stretch collapsed to the floor, hands held close to his face as the tears began rolling freely down his cheeks and onto the rough stone floor.

 

“I'm sure he will...”

 

***

 

The eldest McFadden boy bolted upright. A rainstorm had brewed up outside and was causing no end of grief to the trees outside. He looked at the clock, the hour hand just about to reach 1 am. His brothers hadn't returned yet. Fatso was probably watching a double episode with the kids, and Stinkie and the Doc were most likely still talking about earlier.

 

Now perfectly alone, he felt a sensation he hadn't experienced in decades course through his body, making his throat close up and his chest tighten. Was it fear? Shock? Surprise?

 

“Sadness?” he said to himself, looking in disbelief at the salty wet stains on his pillow. He shook his head, he had nothing to be sad about!

 

He lived in a manor with his family, he had land and titles, he could travel whenever and wherever he wanted, he could go on a booze run any night of the week, and he could have any girl he wanted!

 

“Yeah!” He agreed with himself, feeling marginally better. “I had everything when I was a fleshy! I even had...” He voice gave out, as if whatever word he was trying to use did not compute.

 

“I had... “ He sunk lower into his bed, trying to find the missing words. “Uh... money? No. Stuff? Nah. A kid-”

 

His mind stopped dead (no pun intended) when he said that. The memory of holding an infant Casper close to his chest as the kid babbled his first word began replaying over and over and over again before it had etched itself permanently into Stretch's mind.

 

“A kid?” He damn near squeaked, more confused than ever.

 

“ _No.”_ His brain supplied. “ _Casper's was JT's and Saph's kid. You where just there... a lot. For no reason. Always ready to take care of him or to give him company when his Ma was out of commission. Always there to clean his scraps and bruises. Always being the silly, rude uncle. Always there when JT came home to hugs and kisses and being told he was a great father. Even if JT was_ _ **never fucking there**_ _!”_

 

The eldest McFadden became indes cribably angry and upset at the same time, shouting to the heavens. “You weren't even there for his first words you  Cac ar oineach! All that talk of you doing everything for his sake? Bullshit!” He grinned madly as the slew of Gaelic swears passed down from his grandmother came back to him. “He called  **ME** Dad. Not you.  **ME** ! I was a better father to him than you ever was! And don't you forget it you useless, brown-nosing,  **bastard** !”

 

He devolved into a series of dry hiccups, tears held back by pride alone. His voice croaked as he let out one last swear. "How fucking dare you ignore such a great kid. I would've thanked God if he'd been my own."

 

“Stretch?”

 

He froze and turned to see his brothers and Doctor Harvey standing there, all with shocked looks upon their faces. They stood still, Stinkie's hand was shaking as he held onto a coffee cup. Fatso had covered his mouth in shock. Doc blinked, his face trying to hide his empathy.

 

It was then than Stretch realised that he was sobbing immensely, his face in an un-ghostly shade of light purple.

 

He wiped his nose and sniffed deeply, avoiding eye contact with any of them. “How much did'ya hear?”

 

“Enough.” Stinkie replied as his own memories began trickling back, looking close to crying himself. “Holy cow, you use to loved that kid more than life Stretch.”

 

“What ever happened?” Fatso interjected, looking very distressed. “We all use to love the short-sheet. What changed?”

 

The three brothers stood there, racking their brains for something, anything that could help them solve the mystery.

 

After a solid minute or two, Doctor Harvey interrupted their soul searching.

 

“Guys I think you'll all agree when I say we are all burned out at the moment.” His eyes drooped heavily, the dark rings visible under his glasses. “If there is to be any healing, we need to take on all these... sudden memories one step at a time.”

 

Stretch had wanted to protest, but one look at his brothers' faces told him not to. Swearing under his breath he agreed. “Fine. We'll all spill our hearts out during business hours. 'Night Doc.”

 

“Yeah G'night Doc.” Stinkie said, flopping down onto his bed instantly.

 

“Goodnight fellas!” Fatso said a bit too eagerly as he slipped under the covers.

 

“Goodnight guys.” Doctor James Harvey smiled and went to leave the room before turning back around and asking the older brother quietly. “Actually, Casper and Kat fell asleep downstairs. Can you help me bring them back up to bed?”

 

Stretch didn't know what to say. Until the thought of holding the kid.  _His kid_ , close to him again made him agree instantly.

 


	6. Stinkie's Stinkiest Stinks

Kat's curiosity began after Uncle Stinkie gave the mail man his daily “smellogram” and laughed as the hapless courier ran down the frozen pavement.

 

Having lived in Whipstaff for quite a few months, Kat believed that she had her ghostly housemates figured to a T.

 

Stretch liked reading heavy books with fancy words and pretending to be smarter than everyone else. Fatso liked food of all kinds and singing along to every song on the radio. Casper liked to spend as much time as possible simply being around people and in his down time watched an ungodly amount of old B-movies.

 

And Stinkie... liked smells.

 

The second McFadden took absolute pride in his miasma and flaunted it whenever and wherever he could. Even if he wasn't consciously spooking someone with it, one could still see small fine wisps of concentrated odour leaking out of his pores. Anything he touched would often be left with an invisible hand print of either dirt or something that Kat didn't want to think about.

 

It puzzled her that such a man born and raised in the opulence of Whipstaff could seem so... scruffy. After the incident with the photographs, she could determine that he used to have wild dark brown hair and wore looser, cheaper clothes than his brothers. He carried a relaxed atmosphere where ever he went, even when his normally crude and raunchy siblings were on their best behaviour.

 

Her father inquired about their past lives during their short therapy sessions but let no word slip past during casual conversation. Trying to ask him would be met with a spiel on “doctor-patient confidentiality” and a pat on the head. With this is mind, Kat decided to ask the most knowledgeable person she knew.

 

“I'm sorry Kat but I honestly don't know why he loves smells so much.” Casper told her in a sorry tone. Although he could remember the more intricate details of his uncles, he was not well versed in their histories. “As far as I can tell he's always been well... Stinkie.”

 

Kat groaned in disappointment, her curiosity was no where near sated. “You'd think he'd tell us _why_.” She had been wondering for days why the second brother was so fixated on smells. She had become accustomed to the small bombs of evil that he placed strategically around the manor and could recognise one of his many surprises left around town for some poor mortal sap to set off.

 

In that instance a foul air entered the room from the south door, reeking of putrefied eggs and cow dung.

 

“I'm back!” yelled it's source as he flopped down onto the couch. “Phew! I'm pooped!.” He threw his ghostly tail onto the coffee table as they materialised into feet. “Farmers market was real busy, couldn't get a scare in edgewise. How about you fetch the brandy, Bulb-head?”

 

Casper nodded and dutifully retrieved a bottle of brandy from the kitchen, never mind that ghosts can only absorb a fraction of the food or drink they consume. Kat placed a tea towel under Uncle Stinkie just as the neck of the bottle reached his lips.

 

“Hey, Uncle Stinkie?” He was met with a disinterested hum. Casper cleared his throat asked. “I was thinking that perhaps... could you teach me how to be better at Smell Scares?”

 

His uncle raised his brow in suspicion. “And why pray tell is it only now that you've become interested in scaring?”

 

“Well ever since what... happened with the Crittenden woman I thought...” he fumbled his words, making his fib even more obvious.

 

His uncle became bored and was about to leave through the floor when Kat decided to cut to the chase. “We want to know what's up with the stink thing.”

 

“Par- _don_?” Stinkie replied sarcastically, placing the brandy down on the coffee table. “If you were so curious about my odorous exploits you coulda just asked.”

 

“Please, tell us!” Both kids asked, spurning the ghost on. “What was your first smell scare?”

 

Stinkie preened at the attention and sat up proudly. “My first scare, children, occurred when I was in fact; a fleshie.”

 

“No living man could make those smells.” Kat laughed dryly, relaxing herself on the armchair.

 

“Scout's honour!” The older ghost playfully saluted, going back to his tale. “Now you see, I wasn't even a big fleshie by then. No, I was shorter than even Casper when I knew that I was destined for smelly greatness.”

 

***

 

“What the hell is this?” asked ten-year old Stretch McFadden as he poked and prodded the foreign, spiky object.

 

“Maybe it's an animal.” A very short J.T McFadden added quietly, more interested in the leather box it was encased in.

 

“Maybe it's an alien.” Stinkie suggested, oddly entranced by the football-sized object as it's needles stuck into his fingers.

 

“Or maybe it's food!” Fatso declared, trying to put his mouth over the top, only to yelp and jump back when he realised that the leaves were razor sharp.

 

The head maid, a no nonsense woman name Mrs McCarty, strode in and swiped the object from Fatso's grasp, setting it atop the marble fireplace with a vast array of equally fantastical goods.

 

“Children how many times have I told you to not touch those?” She said wearily, worn out from the long work day. “Your father said not to even go near these things until you know what they are.”

 

Ahh yes. Master Jonathan McFadden had just returned from a long long trip to Central America and as promised, brought home trunk-fulls of rare plants, baubles, foods, and sometimes animals as evidenced by the brightly coloured bird he was busy presenting to his wife.

 

His sons poured over their gifts, but were still terribly intrigued by the spiky yellow-green object. It was given a grand place beside their dear family photos and figurines, a spot only preserved for the most prestigious trophies or medals.

 

It confused them indeed.

 

“Sure, alright.” Stretch waved half-heartedly, already bored with the foreign wonder. “What **is** it though?”

 

“It's a priceless....” Mrs McCarty trailed off, eyeing the object upside down before concluding. “It's a rare house plant that doesn't need a pot.”

 

The children took her word as gospel and ignored it in favour of a type of rocking-horse their father had brought back, laughing as Fatso tried his best to clamour onto it.

 

All except Stinkie. This short explanation only enticed him further and when the head maid was safely out of sight, he decided to investigate. Standing on his tiptoes, he smacked the object off it's perch, wincing as he caught it in his bare hands. Now that he got an actual look at this thing, it really did look like an alien house plant. It's dark green leaves were tipped in bright red and it's prickly bulb was radiating a lime-yellow shine.

 

And as with most foreign plants, the smell was something different all together.

 

Somewhere between the strong sourness of lemons, and the dull sweetness of honey, the plant's scent would be almost intoxicating, if not for it's holder.

 

Stinkie's face bunched up sourly, the citrusy scent causing his eyes to water and his nose to sneeze in small quite bursts. Deciding it wasn't worth his time, he shoved it back up onto it's place above the fireplace and joined his brothers just as Stretch, J.T, and Fatso's combined weight broke the rocking-horse.

 

***

 

“Fruit?” Kat interrupted his tale, a bored look on her face. “That was your first scare?”

 

Stinkie narrowed his eyes at her and replied sharply. “No. It was a crucial element to it though. And if a certain fleshy didn't interrupt, we'd be there by now.”

 

The teen stuck her tongue out at him and he responded the same. He sipped at the brandy some more before returning to his tale. “Now when I was little, I _HATED_ certain smells. Not sure why exactly, just did. And fruit was on my top ten at the time, so it wasn't a shock that I avoided that weird fruit thing like death. But as with most things, it started smelling better after albeit after a certain - _ahem_ – deadline.”

 

***

 

The second McFadden boy had strange reactions whenever he breathed in odours most would consider pleasant. Lavender, vanilla, mint, and even flowers of all things, caused his body to react as if it were poisoned.

 

Pustulent rot however was like sweet sweet nectar.

 

The strange plant, now identified as what used to be a fruit, sat in it's place in the study as it did six months ago. It had however taken upon a sickly brown colour and it's usually sharp fronds drooped lowly over it's bulb.

 

Stinkie had grown to like the rotting “plant”, how it gave a distinct but calm aroma, how it's drabness matched the room, and how much the cleaning staff hated the sight of it. Yes it seemed that the unfortunate fruit had become part of what made Whipstaff their home.

 

Until one day...

 

“It's far past its prime!” He overheard Mother shout at Father as he hid behind the parlor sofa. “I brought Bertha over yesterday and she asked me if it were a shrunken head! The nerve of her! Oh, but it is most embarrassing...”

 

“Alright! Alright! Calm down, my love!” Jonathan McFadden attempted to soothe his wife, barely dodging the silk pillow that was chucked at his head. “I'll make the arrangements to ship in a new one!”

 

“No!” She chucked an other pillow in his direction. “I don't want a putrid, horrible fruit rotting on my mantelpiece just because you want to show off! Either get rid of it, or I will!”

 

“B-but Mary...”

 

“Don't you “Mary” me! Get rid of it!” With that she stormed out of the room, slamming the parlor doors hard enough to chip the hardwood.

 

Lord McFadden held the bridge of his nose, one of his many migraines brewing. Turning around he wasn't surprised to see his second oldest son standing in the doorway to the library.

 

“Oh. Hello Stuart. What are you here for?” He asked, pretending that the fight hadn't happened.

 

Stinkie didn't react. He had been there the entire time and past experience had told him that it was better to be not seen or heard when either of his parents flew off the handle. The bruises on his backside were evidence of such. “If Ma doesn't want it, can I have it?”

 

“Have what?”

 

“The freaky plant! Mom doesn't want it so I want it.”

 

Lord McFadden's eyes lit up as Stinkie pointed to the miserable fruit on the mantelpiece, the small boy almost jumping up as if to grab it. He stood still in thought for a moment before coming up with a plan.

 

“Of course, my son! It is a lovely object is it not? But of course your Mother has no interest in it. Too preoccupied with perfumes and dresses and all.” He picked it up off the mantelpiece and deposited it carefully into his son's waiting hands. “What about tomorrow you bring it to the parlor when Daddy's friends are here, so they can see it?”

 

Stinkie's eyes were wide with joy, never before had Father actually given him something he wanted. The plant was now much softer than before, the spines and sharp leaves dulled with age. “Really? _!_ ”

 

“Of course! But remember, tomorrow when my friends are here. Can you keep that promise?”

 

With a swift nod, the young boy sped away to his room to find the perfect spot to place his new found treasure. His Father hoping that he wouldn't trip on the way up.

 

***

 

“Wait... Why was the fruit so important?” Kat interrupted again, now genuinely puzzled. “Couldn't he have bought another? And why in the name of God would he keep it for six months without eating or even dumping it?”

 

Stinkie gave her an annoyed glare, but chose not to complain. After all it was a weird aspect of the story. “You see back in the day, fruits that we'd consider normal now were impossible to find outside their home countries. Bananas? None. Mangos? Nada. Pineapples? Impossible. So it became a brief fad that if you managed to get your hands on one of these things, you wouldn't eat it since it cost so damn much. So you showed it off to your rich friends in a “look how rich I am” sorta way. That make it any clearer?”

 

Kat shrugged her shoulders, the concept still a little too odd for her. “I guess...”

 

“Good. Cus I'm not here to explain to you the finer points of Victorian snobbery.” Stinkie finished his rant and continued with his story. “Now I was ecstatic to have this fruit thing. I played with it for hours that day. I pretended to brush it with a comb. I even went to bed with it that very night. But with all good things, it couldn't last...”

 

***

 

“Excuse me, Stuart!” Father yelled from the parlor, catching the nine-year old Stinkie's attention. He ran from his place in the greenhouse, where he was prodding at the rarer species of flowers, and into the parlor where his father and his father's five associates sat.

 

Lord McFadden was man who had more business partners than actual friends, owning to his reclusive personality and frankly boring demeanour. Thankfully he had met other men who were equally just as uninteresting as he was. Stinkie was unsure what they even talked about, as they never spoke about scandalous ideas or gossip like Mother and her friends did.

 

Maybe it was about ties. That is an appropriately boring topic.

 

The ring of six men scowled at him when he entered the room, his knickerbockers covered in mud and sap. His face and legs covered in scabbed-over scratches. Ignoring their looks of disgust he asked in his best “good boy” voice. “What is it Fada?”

 

His dad winced at the mispronunciation of “father” and asked. “Will you please go get that thing I entrusted to you yesterday?”

 

“Yep!”

 

In less than a minute, Stinkie had returned with his prized object, having kept the fruit close by for most of the day. Bouncing on the balls of his feet he held out the fruit as if he was presenting a grand prize.

 

The reaction he received was... less than enthusiastic.

 

“By Jove! What is that? _!_ ”

 

“And what is that smell?”

 

“Should we have a window opened?”

 

“Is that a fruit or a pygmy's head?”

 

Stinkie stared dumbfounded as five of the men backed away from him like he was the plague. Lord McFadden was holding his breath, more out of embarrassment than disgust.

 

“Johnny my boy!” A walrus-faced man exclaimed, waving his handkerchief in an attempt to dispel the odour. “What on earth did your son bring to us?”

 

Father gave a sharp intake of air, realising that the rotted fruit wasn't exactly the magnificent curio it had been six months prior. Turning to his second son he scolded. “Stuart! I meant one of the fresh ones in the kitchen. Throw that away before you make any of us ill!”

 

“B-but Da, you said-” The boy's voice wavered, trembling in the way only reachable through an already beaten down self-esteem. He didn't understand why his Father was lying, only that he was and that he was doing it to make himself look better.

 

“Get. The. One. From the. Kitchen.” Father ordered through gritted teeth, his voice returning to normal when he turned to address his friends in a cheery tone. “Sorry for the trouble gentlemen. My Stuart isn't the brightest of bulbs, always muddling things up he is! Why only the other day...”

 

Stinkie had slinked away from the room by this point, shaking with a variety of emotions that he was unable to tame at this age. Sadness, shame, embarrassment, but one emotion stood above the rest.

 

Rage.

 

Without thinking, Stinkie waited a few moments, watching as the five other men had finally relaxed and had seated themselves back into the leather sofas and armchairs. All of them so uptight. All old money. All wearing expensive velvet suits.

 

An evil thought popped into the young boy's mind. Pretending to walk the distance to and from the kitchen, Stinkie reappeared in the doorway of the parlor, the rotten fruit still clutched in his hands.

 

“Fada, I can't find any of them- whoops!”

 

Deliberately tripping over, the fruit flew from his hands. It reached a good seven foot height before crashing back to earth with a great big splat.

 

Horrified screaming told Stinkie that his little plan had worked. Peaking up from his place on the floor, he saw all six men scramble out of the room. Their clothes, their faces, and even their mouths covered in the disgusting fruity goop.

 

And the smell, dear God the smell!

 

It was so putrid, so foul, so _new_. So DIFFERENT from lavender, ambergris, rose, and any other over-powered fragrance that plagued his day to day life.

 

In was in this moment that Stinkie decided that he had a calling. Fortunately for those around him, he wouldn't discover what that calling actually was until he was much older. And much able to produce foul odours of his own.

 

***

 

“Wow... thats kinda...” Kat tried to think of a response. “Cool? I guess?”

 

“Thank you.” Stinkie replied, beaming with pride. “That pineapple was a good friend of mine. He gave his life bravely.”

 

“That was a really good story uncle Stinkie!” Casper piped up, having been honestly enraptured by the tale. “But didn't you get punished for it?”

 

“Oh yeah. Ten across my ass with a cane. Dad figured himself a disciplin-arbarian or something.” He confirmed, mangling the words as he took one last sip from the brandy bottle. “But he made sure not to trust me with fruit again... Oh hey! That reminds me, lets go to the Greenhouse.”

 

He grabbed both their hands and began briskly floating towards the Greenhouse at the back of the mansion. Kat strained to keep up with the two ghosts as they passed through furniture and door frames.

 

“Why? What's so important about the Greenhouse?” She asked, bumping against another end table on the way there.

 

“I said my dad never let me near fruit again, but he never took away my gardening privileges. I loved the heck out of gardening. Getting down and dirty, but for a good reason ya know?”

 

They finally made it to the Greenhouse. Technically separate from the manor itself, only a short glass hallway connected it to one of the many rooms in Whipstaff. The morning sun shone lazily through the glass as they went inside, the air distinctly humid and warm.

 

“Now, let me see if I remember... A-ha! Here it is!” Stinkie exclaimed rushing to a far corner of the small Greenhouse where a truly massive flower stood. The table it had been seated upon was now cracked and sinking to the ground. Dirt and broken flower pots had piled up around it, causing it to appear more like a shrine to Triffids than an actual plant. “Kids, meet Amorphophallus titanum. My greatest project yet.”

 

“Umm” Both kids hummed confusedly as the older ghost gestured to the flower as if he was presenting a prize bull. Kat snickered a bit when she saw the phallic resemblance in the plant.

 

“What does it do?” Casper asked wearily, afraid to step forward less the plant were to suddenly come alive and grab him.

 

Stinkie turned around and explained in great detail. “It stinks. A lot. You see most plants smell “good” so they attract bees, birds, and everything in between with a nose. But this kind of flower spreads itself by smelling worse than sweaty socks, bad eggs, Limburger cheese, rotting fish, and human dung combined.”

 

“But why?” Kat asked exasperatedly, catching the faintest whiff of what Stinkie had described. The many bloomings of the plant had permeated the very woodwork of the Greenhouse, leaving behind an odorous ghost of itself. “If it stinks so bad than nothing would go near it.”

 

“That's what I thought so too! But then every fly and beetle from here to New Jersey decided to move in. You see, instead of relying on bees to do the job, it got nature's little garbage-men to do the job for them.”

 

He took in a breath of nostalgia, looking as happy as if he were describing the love of his life. “This plant was what got me my nickname you know. Well, that and my terrible lactose intolerance. It all happened when I was a slightly bigger fleshie.”

 

***

 

“It looks like a giant dick!”

 

Stinkie frowned as Stretch barged into the Greenhouse, taking one look at the new addition and laughing his ass off. As way the humour of a sixteen year old would be. Huffing a bit, the younger brother turned and began re-potting the plant somewhere it could grow properly.

 

Stretch picked up on his brother's coldness and commented. “Aww, c'mon Stink! I didn't mean to hurt ya! But honestly it still does look like a dick.”

 

“I got the picture the first four times Stretch.” Stinkie replied, not in the mood for being heckled.

 

Father had returned from another exhibition to the four corners of the earth and had presented his sons with a variety of gifts from the wet jungles of Indonesia. Stretch got a fancy decorative dagger, Fatso got a huge box of rare tea, Mother got a new bright coloured bird, and JT got some sort of priceless golden bauble that he hid from sight the moment he was given it. So naturally being the child with an interest in botany, Stinkie was given a terribly phallic looking plant native to the region.

 

“It blooms only every ten years or so! I trust you can take care of it until them?” Father had asked, a devious glint in his eye. “This specimen is around seven years old so I am unsure when it will bloom, but make sure to tell me when it does!”

 

Stinkie continued to grumble for most of the day as the titanic plant was almost half his height and weight. It stood out like a sore, phallic-looking thumb in the Greenhouse of bright exotic plants. And it didn't help that it took up so much damn room.

 

But still Stinkie pressed on, more out of spite than anything, and started treating the plant as he would any other under his care. It even became welcomed as the plant continued to grow and grow upwards, almost reaching the ceiling and casting a large shadow over Mother's prized tulips.

 

So it was very exciting to see the tell tale signs of blooming one hot summer afternoon.

 

“Hey guys! It's happening!” Stinkie had all but dragged his brothers and parents down to see it, the manor staff following behind them curiously.

 

“You could have at least waited 'till it actually happened Stink.” Fatso yawned, having been pulled from a nap in the library.

 

“Shush! It's starting any moment now!” The second McFadden brother hushed, more excited than ever. “How many scientists would kill for a look at this beast huh? You should be thankful you have a family discount.”

 

A loud gasp filled the room as a large “cup” from the plant began slowly opening outwards, revealing a bright green-to-red shade only possible in rare exotic flowers. It continued to do so for a solid minute before stopping completely, electing a loud applause from the group. Stinkie's heart was heavy with pride, the fruits of his labour now visible to all. It was enough to make a grown man cry.

 

“Oh my GOD!”

 

Oh hey what do you know?

 

The effect was only noticed when the fragrance of the flower had began to choke any other in the Greenhouse, effectively silencing the loveliest of roses and honeysuckle.

 

It was... beautiful. A complex stew of chemicals, pheromones and just plain stink quickly flooded the room.

 

Stinkie looked around in both horror and amazement as the smell of the plant knocked his brothers off their feet, forced his father to seek shelter in his suit jacket, and caused a few house staff to vomit all over the floor.

 

And as everyone evacuated the room, he looked up at his prized flower and smiled goofily. It was truly a match made it heaven.

 

***

 

Stinkie let out one last loud sigh, almost smelling that day. “It was one of the best days of my life. Course it continued to bloom every so often but nothing ever beats the first time. Then again I suppose it was nice being the only one not revolted by it or it's other smelly cousins. I actually got a part-time job at some botanical garden when I around twenty. Stayed like that for a couple years until...”

 

“Until what?” Kat asked, now more intrigued than ever.

 

The ghost looked down at the ground and sighed once more, this time out of exhaustion. “Until everything fell apart.”

 

Deciding not to pry even further, Kat and Casper thanked the older ghost for teaching them so much and left him to his musing. Taking a quick last peep showed that he had begun a small route around the Greenhouse, checking on the long dead plants as he did in life.

 

With her confusion finally cleared, Kat made her way down to the kitchen to grab a snack and Casper went upstairs to watch a movie marathon that had started a half an hour ago.

 

Finishing her uneventful lunch of PB&J, she gave her crumb-covered plate a quick rinse before putting it away in the cupboard. A choked gurgling sound told her that the sink was blocked yet again.

 

Groaning in frustration, she reached under the sink cupboard to retrieve a new bottle of bleach her dad had bought. Despite the house being marginally cleaner than when they had first arrived, it was still a hundred something year old house with all the plumbing issues that came with it.

 

Carefully pouring the caustic liquid down the drain, she held it far away from her face, not wanting to breathe what ever it was made of. As the liquid fizzed and dissolved through bits of meat clogged in the pipes, Kat heard a distinct gagging noise from behind her.

 

Assuming it was her ghostly friend she said aloud. “Don't worry, Casp, the stench goes away after a while you just-”

 

A loud retching cut her off and when she turned to look at the source of the noise, she saw Uncle Stinkie head first in a garbage pail, making terrible choking noises.

 

Quickly putting the cap back on the bleach she rushed over to the ghost. “Uncle Stinkie are you okay?” She asked worriedly, only afterwards realising that she had referred to him as “Uncle”.

 

“P-put it a-away.” he whimpered quietly.

 

“What?” The girl asked puzzled, the bottle still in her hands.

 

“Put it away, please!”

 

Without second thought, Kat put the bleach back into the cupboard, instinctively washing her hands before going back to check on the ghost.

 

“Stinkie what's going on? Are you hurt or something?”

 

The ghost's ecto was a sickly shade of green and he looked like he was about to keel over again. “Let's... go somewhere that's not as... bleachy.”

 

They made their way back into the parlor, the stench of the morning's farmer's market was still fresh in the air and Stinkie seemed to be coming down from his ill state.

 

“What happened back there? All I did was pour some bleach down the drain and-”

 

It was now Stinkie's turn to interrupt. “Nah, nah. It wasn't your fault kiddo. I just... get like this when I'm around bleach or lye or anything like that. Bad memories with those smells, ya know?”

 

Kat's interest was piqued more than it had been this morning. Cautiously she asked. “What happened to make you react so badly to bleach anyway?”

 

The ghost's face fell into a paranoid frown, looking around for anyone else he asked. “You won't tell the bulb-head right?”

 

“What bulb-head?” She said sarcastically. “I'm pretty sure he has a name.”

 

Stinkie caught on to her loophole and stated firmly. “Don't tell Casper then. It'll mess him up if he knew.”

 

“Knew what?”

 

“What his dad did for a living.”

 

***

 

To say that Stinkie grew up handsomely would be a lie. His nose was pushed up, his eyes were sunken in, his teeth grew in crooked, and his body was scruffier than a stray terrier. His youngest brother Jonathan-Thomas however, did in fact grow up handsomely.

 

It seemed to be only yesterday that the fourth McFadden brother was a baby-faced charmer, but with the onset of puberty, he slowly transformed into a sleeker, darker haired version of his father.

 

Even now at the age of twenty he resembled Lord McFadden so much that even his own brothers mistook them for each other.

 

“Hey, Da- oh wait it's just you JT.” Stinkie said jokingly as he passed his younger brother in the hallway, hoping to snap him out of his current daze.

 

“What is it Stuart?” JT asked in an annoyed tone, having long since abandoned his brothers childhood nicknames. “Don't you see I'm busy?”

 

The older brother was taken aback by the hostility and replied. “Whoa, what's with the thorns? I know you've been stressed out what with the baby and all, but you should really kick back once in a while. It ain't healthy to be all work no play.”

 

JT scoffed and made his way to his basement lab, which before it had been hidden by a secret lever system was accessible directly from the wine cellar. “I have no time for relaxing. I have so much research to do!”

 

Stinkie rolled his eyes and made his way into the kitchen for lunch. He hadn't an actual clue what sort of science his brother was in to. Dad had shipped him off to a fancy college (of which Stretch, Stinkie, and Fatso were of course unable to attend) in hopes that he'd become a doctor or a businessman but was a little disappointed when the teachers there had filled his head with thoughts of inventions and new discoveries.

 

Lunch with the family went as usual. Fatso ate everything that wasn't already in someone's mouth, Stinkie had himself an onion-heavy ploughman's lunch. And Stretch tried his best to juggle his own lunch whilst bottle-feeding their newborn nephew.

 

Stinkie wasn't really sure what he thought of baby Casper just yet, but he was at least glad that he had inherited more of his mother's traits than his father's. He shuddered at the thought of having another clone in the family.

 

“Hey Stink, Ma said to bring this down to JT.” Stretch said curtly, not even looking up as he pointed to the tray of food resting on the counter-top. “He hasn't been eating right since the kid came around and she's worried.”

 

“Probably just new parent syndrome or something. It'll pass.” Stinkie commented but still took the tray. The stress of parenthood would explain his youngest brother's sudden coldness, but still there is a line between “stressed out” and “being a dick”.

 

Fatso took the babe from Stretch's arms, allowing the eldest brother to eat his lunch in peace. Holding little Casper in one large arm he mused. “I wonder if we'll get that crabby when we have kids...”

 

“IF, Fatso. **IF**.” Stretch replied quickly, looking down at his sandwich. “Unless we all get girls to marry and/or lie with us, we're going to be spinsters for the rest of our lives.”

 

“I don't know, I'd like to be a dad.” Fatso mentioned absent-mindedly, still holding the babe in his arms.

 

Stretch stared at him critically before admitting. “Yeah you're the most likely to be next. You got that “fat guy with three kids” vibe going on.”

 

Stinkie saw the massive grin on his younger brother's face and decided it was time to leave. He wasn't going to waste his afternoon talking about babies. That's what moms and doctors talked about.

 

Taking the tray down the uneven steps of the wine cellar, he got lost a few times trying to find the exit in the maze of vintage alcohol and scattered lab notes. Eventually he found the entrance to the lab at he end of the fourth corridor.

 

“JT?” He asked the darkness, surprised that his scientist brother would work in the dark. “Hey, Little J! Ma sent me down with your lunch. Either come get it or Fatso'll eat it.”

 

Nothing replied back. Groaning in annoyance, Stinkie felt around until he found the light switch, which instead of lighting the whole room immediately, only lit a small path deeper into the lab. Deciding to continue his journey, the third brother carefully made his way down crude stone steps, carved out when their father commissioned a new basement be built. It was never finalised due to financial reasons and JT took it over the empty cavern as his lab.

 

“Seriously JT?” Stinkie asked exasperatedly to the air, almost falling as he missed a step. “You really gotta put like a dumb-waiter down here or something. I don't want to go on an expedition just to bring you Bovirl and toast.”

 

The smell hit him before he even saw it.

 

Bleach. Ammonia. A slew of every cleaning chemical in existence. And... something sweet?

 

Stinkie never liked the smell of cleaning stuff, it either smelled like pee or smelled worse than pee (and not in a good worse). The scent was almost suffocating down here.

 

His brother along with his brother's workstation soon came into view, the youngest McFadden crouched over something on the table.

 

“Hey bro!” He called out once more, finally getting his brother's attention. “I brought you lun-”

 

His hands began shaking as he saw what was on the table. Jonathan-Thomas looked back at him with a shocked glare. The machines around them beeped and whirled rhythmically, as if unaware of what was happening.

 

“B-bro... Is that a...?” Stinkie didn't want to finish his sentence, instead choosing to put the food tray down on another table, swaying slightly. “Dear God, bro.”

 

JT turned back to his “work” and growled dangerously. “Go away Stuart.”

 

“No! JT, you tell me what the hell is going on here! I've barely seen you in two weeks and now... THIS?” He gestured to the table, his voice growing more and more distressed with each word.

 

“I had to bring my work home with me.” the scientist replied, not wanting to explain anymore.

 

“Bullshit! Work is bringing home files to correct or doing the finishing touches on a drawing, not having a dead body on the fucking table!”

 

The body on the table didn't react, as most of it's features had been eaten away by lye. JT walked slowly up to his brother, his superior height making him loom over him.

 

“My college has enrolled me in the pathology course. I am supposed to study the dead and draw scientific conclusions on how they may have died.”

 

Stinkie calmed down at this explanation, remembering that his little brother had done a course in human anatomy last year. “But... Jesus. You could have at least warned somebody. I was convinced you had killed someone. Ha ha ha.” He laughed awkwardly, surprised when his brother's face fell into one of guilt.

 

“Oh god, you've killed someone have you?” Stinkie asked, feeling like there was a hundred ton of weight on his chest.

 

“Not in... the traditional sense.” JT explained, shrugging his gore-stained shoulders. “People who admit themselves to the programme are allowed to offer their own deaths in return for financial gain for their next of kin. We... choose the method of death and we observe the effects on the body. It isn't very nice but imagine the leaps we're doing in understanding death.”

 

Stinkie was still trembling, not understanding just why someone would offer themselves as cadavers before they were even dead. “And that guy...?” He pointed to the body on the table.

 

“Oh! The “effect of caustic agents on living tissue”. Very enlightening.”

 

The older brother felt sick to his stomach. Swaying even more he began to leave the dungeon that was his baby brother's laboratory. Staggering up the stairs, he decided not to tell his other brothers about JT's odd occupation.

 

He wished he hadn't even learnt of it.

 

***

 

“God...” Was all Kat was able to say.

 

“I know.” Stinkie replied, looking more down than ever. “I mean it's not only the fact he was chopping up people for science, but also because he didn't even tell us that he went into that field. How long would he had continued his work before anyone else found out?”

 

“Did the others ever find out?”

 

“Of course. JT assumed that I had blabbed and became real casual about it. Stretch flew off the handle when he found out.”

 

“God...” Kat echoed, shuffling uncomfortably on the sofa. “And Casper doesn't know?”

 

“Nah. Me and the boys went out of our way to hide it from him. What kid wants to know that their dad deals with dead people?”

 

Kat nodded in agreement, realising the irony in that her own father worked with the dead, albeit their mental health rather than their corpses. “Are you going to be alright though? You seem to really be down in the dumps.”

 

“Sounds like a great idea!” Stinkie joked, suddenly bouncing back to his happy-go-lucky self. “I just need a little aromatherapy to clear my head a bit. Sayonara, bonebag!”

 

With that he disappeared, full of spirit yet again. Kat stared at the space he used to inhabit, feeling weighed down with all this new information. Getting up off the sofa she decided to go visit her dad.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Wow long time waiting. I finally got this chapter finished after a long writer's block. I made it Stinkie-centered, mostly to show various events in the trio's lives. I hope you are all alright and please leave and comment! :D


	7. Christmas at Whipstaff

It had only been a week since Stretch's outburst when Dr Harvey realised that something was not right.

 

The ghost had become unusually distant with the doctor, even more so than when they had initially met. At first James thought that Stretch needed some time to digest all of the new memories triggered after seeing the photographs, but after a week had past it became more apparent that the purple-eyed spook was avoiding him and him alone.

 

Stretch had been, to his own confusion, treating his nephew with a lighter hand than usual. Casper noticed this change immediately and demanded to know why his uncle was acting so strange. Thankfully the younger ghost's curiosity was sated when Stretch snapped at him to finish making breakfast.

 

Interactions with the Ghostly Trio were much briefer and quieter than before, every conversation was soaked in clinging awkwardness. It seemed that the eldest of the three brothers was reluctant to even be in the same room as the doctor.

 

So it was a pleasant surprise when James could hear the ghost's laughter outside his bedroom.

 

He rose stiffly from his bed as if beckoned by the loud cackle. His eyes darted to the alarm clock on his bedside table and saw that it was only two minutes till seven am. The window to his far right was bleached white by last night's snowfall and allowed a small chill to seep through it's cracked frame.

 

6:59 now and for whatever reason James believed that the very microsecond it turned to 7:00, something either terrible or wonderful would happen to him. The anticipation actually scared him a bit, not knowing whether he should grab his slippers or a weapon to chase off the non-threat.

 

The clock hand turned to 7:00 and nothing happened.

 

Shrugging in relief, he tugged his dressing gown from it's place atop the four-poster bed. It took some getting used to when he first arrived at Whipstaff. Although the manor was in disrepair, it's ornate features still surprised him, especially when the four ghosts allowed him to take the extravagant master bedroom. At first he believed it was a gesture of hospitality but with the recent insights on Lord and Lady McFadden he figured that none of the ghosts felt comfortable sleeping in the room previously occupied by their parents.

 

He hissed as feet repeatedly kissed the dark oak floors, feeling the burning cold straight through his socks. Unable to retrieve his slippers from their usual place under the bed, he scavenged the room for a suitable pair of footwear. Thinking deeply for a moment he recalled having a quiet night in after he, Kat, and Casper finished putting up the tree, enjoying a rare moment of quite as the Trio had disappeared for the evening to haunt a 24/7 mini-mall. He then remembered that he had left his elusive slippers in the library after he forgot them in the haze of tiredness.

 

Opening the bedroom door he was glad to be finally met with his usual morning greeting.

 

“ **GOOD MORNING DOCTOR HARVEY!** ”

 

The force knocked him clean onto his rump. _“That was louder than usual.”_ he thought as he plummeted backwards. He winced as the cold floor struck his more sacred body parts, and gingerly lifted himself off the ground.

 

“Morning fellas.” he smiled as if nothing had happened. “Had a fun night?”

 

Stretch was inspecting his hand boredly, trying to avoid looking the doctor in the eye. “No body alive was there! All the stores were empty save for some cashiers.”

 

“I think the cashiers reached a stage of apathy where they were no longer in fact alive.” Fatso nodded, his eyes narrowing. “Must be tough working on Christmas Eve.”

 

Dr Harvey blinked. “Christmas Eve?”

 

“Yeah Doc. 24th of December? The day where people murder each other for the last goose in the frozen goods and the last day that mall Santas roam the streets undisturbed.” Stinkie emphasized with wild hands.

 

“If you went out on Christmas Eve, that would make this...” Doc's eyes widened in shock. Doing an 180 degree spin he tore into his wardrobe and began flinging out a good set of day clothes.

 

Stinkie and Fatso shrugged as the chaos continued, James bolting out the room and down the stairs straight to the library. Tearing his desk cupboards open, he rummaged through them in a wild fit as if the meaning of life laid at the bottom of all the notes.

 

“You forgot didn't you?”

 

The man jumped as he heard the distinct New Jersey accent coming from behind him. Floating there was Stretch, his two brothers strangely not in tow. It had been a long time since the two had spoken directly to one another and the awkwardness was tangible.

 

Not wanting to prolong the silence he replied nervously. “A little bit, yeah.” His eyes lit up as he found the small rectangular box beneath a notebook in the top left shelf. He sighed deeply, glad that it hadn't been misplaced.

 

“Don't worry. I was never a Christmas man myself. Too many bad memories, ya know?” The ghost spoke aloud, his head lightly craned to the side. Upon noticing the box he asked “So what did you get her?”

 

Doctor Harvey was surprised that he'd already guessed the gift's recipient, but he supposed that he'd seen the festive tag stuck to the wrapping paper with scotch tape. “It's a.... bit of a secret. Personal matter you see.”

 

“Fine. Have your secrets.” Stretch huffed, folding his arms across his chest. “It's not like I'm allowed to have any...”

 

He said the last part with a hint of venom, catching the Doc's attention.

 

“Stretch, is there anything you need to tell me?” He asked politely, walking closer to the apparition. “Because I'm always here if you need me.”

 

The ghost reeled back and replied promptly. “No. There ain't nothing you need to hear.”

 

“Really? Then if you don't mind I'd like to get this under the tree before-”

 

Turning his head back to look at the living man, Stretch interrupted in a blunt tone. “Alright you pulled my arm, I need help fixing up something for Casper.”

 

James stared back blankly. Before now the eldest ghost wouldn't even speak to him, now he's asking for help? “Why exactly? Wasn't it only yesterday you were ordering him around and making him cook your food?”

 

“Dat's not what I meant!” The ghost snapped back defensively and began pacing around the room. “Again, I don't give a rat's tush about Christmas, but the bulb-head's birthday is straight after so I need help picking out something that will get him off my back for the rest of the year.”

 

“Just after? Oh! You did mention that Casper was born during a party, right? So do you mean...”

 

“It was a Christmas party. Yeah.” Stretch interrupted again, now looking down at the floor. His face was stony and he looked to be in a state of deep thought. “I... I guess I haven't been the best uncle to the kid. And I sorta... want to make it up to him. I don't have a clue why. Maybe I feel sorry after remembering how much I used to like him. Maybe cus' I owed a favour to his Ma. Maybe I had a brain aneurysm who knows?”

 

The room became silent again and Doctor Harvey was ready to break it when the ghost did it for him.

 

“So!” Stretch said a bit too loudly, turning to face the other man. “You're a father right? You know what kids usually want as gifts right?”

 

“Well more often than not, a child is just glad to be in the presence of their family. Christmas can be a very stressful time of year and with today's economy not all parents can be home for it. So the gift of simply being there is sometimes more than enough.” After receiving a bored glare, James swiftly added on. “Toys are also good.”

 

“I thought so too.” The ghost agreed, looking deep in thought. “I know he loves that train set in his playroom. Maybe he wouldn't mind having another?”

 

“That seems like a good idea. Then again I think he'd be just glad that you got him something.” James said, running him thumb over the object in his hand. An idea popped into his head as he began to leave. “Don't you and your brothers give each other gifts?”

 

Stretch let out a dry laugh and explained. “Me and the boys stopped giving each other Christmas gifts decades ago. We have our own tradition to make up for it.”

 

“Which is?”

 

“Let's just say that you won't see us past dinner time. Unless you decide to join in.”

 

James swore he saw the ghost wink at him, but it might have been just his imagination. Pretending to cough, he replied. “No thanks. Me and Kat prefer to stay in this time of year. I'll make sure to tell Casper that you're going out tonight.”

 

“Your loss Doc.” The ghost shrugged, floating towards the kitchen. He then turned around and asked. “By the way. Weren't you in a hurry for something?”

 

Dr Harvey's memory kicked in and his heart jumped into his throat. “Oh my god, I forgot to buy the roast!” He jumped around the room, trying to gather his wallet and coat. As he was halfway out the door he said sheepishly. “Err... don't tell Kat that I forgot again!”

 

Stretch gave a genuine laugh as the doctor ran out the door with one arm in coat and the other caught in his sweater. He debated with himself over whether or not he should blab and embarrass the man further.

 

Strangely enough; he decided not to.

 

***

 

“So your birthday is literally just after Christmas?” Kat asked, placing another gift under the tree. She had cobbled together a small collection of things to give her house mates, unbeknownst to most of them. “Doesn't that mean your presents are lumped together?”

 

Casper didn't seem to be phased by this and continued placing tinsel on the higher levels of the parlor wall. “Yeah but I always got a lot of them. I think most of the stuff in my playroom were Christmas/birthday gifts. Plus my uncles only have to think of one gift per year.” He laughed rather bitterly, going back to his decorating.

 

Kat noticed this shift in demeanour immediately and decided to change the subject. “Is your cousin Spooky coming this year?”

 

“Nah, him and Pearl are having a vacation in New York. No amount of persuasion can get them away from that.” The ghost explained, accidentally dropping the sellotape. “He used to come here all the time. Not because he wanted to. It was more like his Mom didn't want to deal with him over the holidays.”

 

“That's kind of cold.”

 

“Yeah, I didn't like that aunt very much. She's passed on now.” Casper said almost cheerfully, retrieving the sellotape. “I'm just glad my uncles seem to be interested in staying for dinner. They _never_ stay in during Christmas.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Kat asked, hiding a gift meant for one of the Ghostly Trio behind her father's. “What do they usually do?”

 

“What dads and uncles usually do.” The ghost replied, looking at her as if it was the most obvious thing in the universe. “They drink.”

 

Kat couldn't find an appropriate response to that and the room fell into an awkward silence.

 

Dr Harvey crashed through the door moments later, covered head to toe in slush. A semi-frozen turkey and a paper bag full of emaciated vegetables clutched under his arm. In his run to and from the kitchen, he neglected to notice that the kids had seen him.

 

The human girl smiled and commented. “I guess he forgot again.” A crashing noise from the kitchen urged her to get up from the carpet and follow the sound. “I'll go make sure he doesn't burn anything. You want to help with the prep work?”

 

“Sure!” Casper replied excitedly. It had been a long time since he made dinner _with_ someone instead of _for_.

 

***

 

“Burning the candle at both ends Stretch?” Stinkie asked, lying lazily on the sofa.

 

Stretch had just returned from a long unspecified trip into town. He seemed to be having trouble holding a brightly wrapped box and a large bottle of wine. Being weightless and non-corporeal was making it harder for him to carry such things.

 

“Ahh shaddup.” Was his only response, all but throwing the bottle at his brother as he set the box down carefully under the tree. He noticed that the pile of presents under the tree was unusually high. Then again James seemed like the kind of guy to spoil his kid. “Just needed to pick up essentials.”

 

“Wine is the essential for you I'd imagine.” Stinkie teased, making a surprised, but not disappointed face when he saw the additional groceries. “Sugar and spices? Are we mulling this?”

 

Stretch shrugged his shoulders and excused. “Easier to have a drink or two before heading out. Plus I haven't had mulled wine since the last Christmas we spent at home.”

 

“You mean eighty-five years ago right?” Fatso said as he entered the room, carrying his own brightly wrapped box as he setted it down by the tree with the others. “I hadn't even thought about it till now.”

 

“Probably 'cus we croaked about less than a year later methinks.” Stinkie mused, tempted to pop the wine bottle open and chug it before it touched any sugars or spices. “Do we even know how to mull?”

 

“I do!” The youngest brother answered excitedly, grabbing the bottle from Stinkie's grasp. “I remember how Great-Aunt Lacy used to do it. Or was that wassail? Can't tell to be honest. She used to make a lot of booze this time of year.”

 

“Can't blame the woman, she was stuck with us for the holidays.” Stretch joked, gaining dry laughter from his brothers.

 

After the laughter had settled, Stinkie suddenly asked particularly no one. “So... what's with the present?”

 

Fatso and Stretch immediately stood in front of the tree and put their hands behind their backs, trying to hide their presents from view.

 

“Nothing...” Fatso lied, looking over at his brother's place on the sofa. “What's with _your_ present?”

 

Stinkie moved his spectral tail to cover a similarly sized and brightly wrapped box hidden behind his rump. He lied in turn. “Nothing...”

 

All three brothers gave each other the stink eye. All knowing that the others had bought their dear bulb-headed nephew a Christmas and/or birthday present. They continued glaring at each other for another solid minute before a voice came from the kitchen.

 

“Guys! Dinner is ready!” Casper called, phasing through the parlor door seconds later. Noticing the stand-off his uncles were having he asked. “What's going on?”

 

“NOTHING!” All three answered at the same time, tossing themselves away from the Christmas tree. In a quick flurry of white, Casper's uncles zoomed past him on route to the kitchen, leaving shreds of multicoloured paper in their wake.

 

“How about that mulled wine?”

“Let's break out the fruitcake and brandy!”

“Oh boy, chestnut stuffing!”

 

They all spoke aloud, hoping to distract their nephew from the conspicuously tall pile of boxes set aside from Kat's or Dr Harvey's. It seemed to work as Casper quickly followed them into the kitchen where the dinner was spread along the table.

 

The Trio would be lying if they said that they weren't immediately excited to sit down and have a proper Christmas feast for once. Kat was already at the table in casual clothes, eyeing the bowl of steamed vegetables next to her hungrily. Dr Harvey was busy trying to put the turkey onto a large silver serving platter as a pot of home made gravy simmered on the stove top.

 

“Hi fellas! Glad you could join us.” He greeted, wearing a stained tacky apron with the words _“Kiss the cook; but don't Touch the Buns”_ printed on the front along with a pattern of small muffins and burger buns. Needless to say when he turned his back to them he felt a ghostly hand pinch his behind.

 

“Instructions unclear. Failed step two.” Stretch grinned wildly, not able to resist the temptation. His face scrunched up when the human man smacked him on the nose with the stirring spoon.

 

“Very funny. Try and at least get one step right.” Dr Harvey scolded, sounding more playful than annoyed. He finally transferred the large roast beast onto the silver platter. Fatso slipped in next to him and began hurriedly making a quick batch of mulled wine while Stinkie plopped down next to Kat, ready to dig into some brussels sprouts.

 

The grandeur of the spread was slightly diminished when among the china plates and crystal decanters, they drank out of plastic cups and served out stuffing from a chicken-shaped crockery dish. Most of this was attributed to the Harveys not caring what they ate off of as long as it didn't try to eat them back.

 

The Trio did in fact have quite a bit of fun. The food was good, even though Dr Harvey had difficulties with the stove and the mulled wine that Fatso made tasted more of orange peel and cloves than anything vaguely alcoholic. Then again Kat made a face when she finally convinced her dad to let her drink some, so it must still had some sort of potency. Christmas crackers were broken throughout the meal, Dr Harvey throwing in most tugs so that his non-corporeal housemates could gloat and wear their paper crowns with pride.

 

At some point in the evening Stretch looked over at his side and felt his long dead heart skip a beat.

 

Casper was smiling.

 

Not only that, but he was laughing too, reacting to a terrible pun Stinkie had made as his baby blue crown sat daintily on the top of his head. James sat next to him, patting his translucent back like any father would as he passed the gravy across the table to Kat.

 

Something in Stretch's soul ached but he wasn't really sure why.

 

As dinner came to a close and dessert was relocated, the whole group crowded into the parlor. The marble fireplace roared an angry flame as the tree continued to blink methodically in various shades of blue and pink and lime green.

 

Kat was the first to receive her gifts. She took the thin, very important, present carefully, unwrapping it slowly as she looked her father in the eye. After all the paper came off her face fell into a mournful smile, wrapping her arms around her father in a tight embrace. It appeared to be a surprisingly hefty photo album, the first few pages were filled with slightly singed photos depicting the Harvey family at different points in their lives and the later ones empty for future use.

 

The kids swapped their own presents for one another, apparently both presents were book that were dear to the giver. The gift that only kids could understand.

 

Casper pretty much passed out when he saw that he had his own mound of presents under the tree, too shocked to actually say anything. His uncles stood close by, observing the ghostly child with a mixture of pride and tenderness.

 

“Mine is better.” Stretch claimed smugly as his nephew carefully unwrapped each box.

 

“No way, mine is better!” Stinkie replied with clove-ladden breath, two paper crowns sitting lazily on his head.

 

“No no no fellas. MINE is better.” Fatso continued, half a family of gingerbread men already in his hands.

 

“No it's mine!”

 

“Mine!”

 

“MINE!”

 

Just as the three were ready to go into a slightly drunken brawl, Casper gasped. “Look at all these trains!”

 

“Huh?” All three asked, finally diverting their attention back to their nephew, surrounded by shed paper and boxes. All around him were three very similar (though thankfully not the same) old fashioned train sets, each one was a different theme and came with a corresponding model town and figures.

 

Stretch's eye twitched and he asked his brothers dangerously. “You got him the same damn gift!?”

 

“Hey! I didn't know YOU were getting him one!” Stinkie replied, one of his paper crowns falling off. “You were the one being all Mr Secretive about it.”

 

“At least we didn't all get the same set...” Fatso let out a sigh of relief when he realised that his nephew didn't seem to mind the vast quantities of metal train tracks and small wooden human figures.

 

Dr Harvey went next, gaining a thick knitted green sweater from Casper with the words _“#1 Ghost Doctor”_ carefully stitched into it with navy thread. Kat had gotten him a rather delightful pair of slippers that were shaped like monster feet. There was a third present that appeared to be an expensive floor length bath robe, monogrammed with the initials JH and all. Dr Harvey wondered who might of gotten it for him, but the nervous looks on the Trio's faces told him everything.

 

So the eventual result was Dr Harvey wearing all three of his presents for the rest of the evening.

 

The Trio were about to leave, feeling that they had a good night's dinner and spent enough time with the family, when they were suddenly called back by Kat.

 

“Guys! You forgot to open **your** presents!”

 

With that the three brothers decided to stay a little longer.

 

Stretch was rather surprised to rip open his gift from Casper and find an old leather bound book, the sides worn and well-loved. Each page was a different folk tale or cultural horror story, mainly Irish and Scottish based with some Cornish thrown in. The eldest ghost thought of the times he'd use to babysit his nephew and was immediately thrown back into nostalgia over the dramatic or cruel stories he would tell the child on nights where the monsters close to him got too scary for comfort. He ruffled the kid's non-existent hair as he unwrapped a silly joke book from James.

 

Stinkie spluttered when a particularly large box was presented to him, a familiar scent drifting out of the box and reminding him of the years where he prowled the botanical gardens and tended to the carrion flowers. A sleek polaroid camera was among his gifts but he was currently busy sobbing happily into Kat's shoulder as the girl patted his back awkwardly.

 

Fatso made a loud “WOO!” when he found an ancient bottle of sweet cider among his gifts, along with a massive mound of speckled breads and an old fashioned cook book with sticky notes on how to make barmbrack.

 

The Trio had _**intended**_ on going out that night... but then again they still did have a vat of mulled wine to go through and a few families more of gingerbread men to eat.

 

***

 

Dr James Harvey felt very proud of himself.

 

The Ghostly Trio ended up staying in that night after all. Each had their own excuses ranging from the probable “The bars will have too many fleshies in them.” to the unlikely “We're all full and sleepy.” to the impossible “I've already had my fill of booze for the holiday Doc.”

 

Either way all three of them were, apparently, asleep in their room. Having exhausted all the excuses and straight up went to bed without telling the doctor. Kat and Casper had both gone to bed shortly before midnight, with Dr Harvey having to convince the friendly ghost not to stay up all night so he could set up his trains.

 

He wrapped the remaining turkey in foil despite knowing that certain housemates would raid it at some point during the night. The dishes sat cluttered in the sink, no one in the house had any energy to clean up after dinner, which left Dr Harvey behind to put away leftovers.

 

As the chicken-shaped stuffing dish was now safely roosting inside the fridge, Dr Harvey began making his own way to his bed, turning off lights as he went. The snow was heavy that night and the windows were permanently frosted over, making the blunt lights of the manor and the sheer dark of the hallways look more eerie than usual. Not that half the residents would mind of course.

 

As he was about to ascend the stairs to his room, the doctor heard something coming from the bowels of the manor.

 

Someone was crying.

 

After going over multiple horror movie scenarios in his head Dr Harvey followed the noise, surprised when it seemed to be coming from a disused blackened door nearer to the kitchen. The door appeared to be untouched for years, even more so than the rest of the manor. It was a thick cast iron and something gritty and salty to the taste had been allowed to grow over the hinges, making the task of opening it a trial.

 

Cold, stale air rushed at the man. A hundred years of neglect was very evident in this chamber. The walls and floors were rough stone as was the series of steps leading to deeper into the room. Every inch of the room was lined with gigantic barrels and corridors of wine racks, each corridor having a small brass sign describing the alcohol it kept.

 

The crying was certainly a lot more clearer now. Now more like a mournful sob than a cry for help. It was the kind one only makes when they are convinced that they are truly alone.

 

Dr Harvey paced up and down the largest corridors, each minute punctuated by another depressing sob and maybe a pause where the crier gulped back something and gasped like it was the first gulp of air they had in years. Finally finding the source in the corridor labelled “Absinthe 1890 – 1914” the doctor wished that he had been prepared for it.

 

Stretch McFadden was laying on the floor of the wine cellar with a champagne flute in one hand and a bottle of amber-tinted alcohol in the other. A multitude of other empty bottles were scattered around him as he continued to drink like he was a town drunk.

 

“Stretch?” James asked warily, coming closer to the distressed spook. He knelt down when he noticed that the ghost didn't even seem to notice him. “Stretch are you alright? Why are you all the way down here drinking by yourself?”

 

The ghost blinked confusedly, staring at the bottle in his hand before recognising the doctor's face. With a coy smile and shaking limbs, he too came closer. “Doc~! Come here and share this with me! It hasn't gone bad yet!”

 

He shoved the bottle under the man's nose before he could protest, the doctor picking up on a distinct woody mushroom-like smell from the liquid. Frowning, Dr Harvey read the label before even thinking about partaking.

 

“ _Absinthe Verde. 1899_. Jesus, Stretch this is older than I am. This is the kind of stuff you'd use to fuel jet engines, not get drunk on.” He reprimanded the dead man even as he was handed his own champagne flute.

 

Stretch didn't seem to be that upset, he responded to the doctor's concerns by pulling out an equally ancient bottle of champagne. “If you don't want to drink it straight, you can have it Death in the Afternoon style instead.” He sloppily poured the champagne into the glass, overflowing it before adding the absinthe.

 

James sat there dumbfounded, holding a cocktail who's only components were about thrice his age in total if not more. He took a tentative sip and his face almost went concave. It tasted of fizzy wood mushrooms and star anise. The liquid burnt his throat on the way down and left him with the feeling of being poisoned.

 

It was quite nice actually.

 

The doctor shuddered after the first sip, trying to turn his attention back onto Stretch. “Why are you drinking all the way down here?”

 

“Easier.”

 

“Easier than what?”

 

“Take your pick. Easier than waking up my brothers. Easier to get drunk at home. Makes it easier to forget...” Stretch rambled, knocking back the rest of his drink. He wiped his mouth and stated loudly. “I really hate this time of year. I really do.”

 

James' curiosity increased tenfold and he asked. “Why?”

 

Stretch said nothing at first, just looking off into space while his eyes began to dampen. “Lost too many people around this time.”

 

“Like who?” The doctor dreaded the answer, somehow already knowing who it was.

 

“I lost... _everyone_.” Stretch began sobbing again, almost dropping the priceless glass bottle as he moved his hand to his face.

 

“Everyone?”

 

“ **Everyone**.” The ghost was getting more and more agitated with each short question. His voice lowered and his usual sharp wit was gone, leaving a saddened whimper. “He was only twelve at the time... imagine having your whole life ahead of you and then poof! Gone forever.”

 

James stared in shock as the brash, cocky ghost he thought he knew so well, broke down into more tears, now gasping for air that he couldn't breathe.

 

“Then there was Spooky and Poil. Poof! Gone. Than all of our cousins in one fell swoop!” He swung his arm around violently, making a sizeable dent in the soft wood of the wine rack. The sounded rumbled up the rack like an aftershock. “T-then Sapphire and...”

 

Before he could finish Stretch seemed to flop down onto the stone ground. His tear-filled eyes were unfocused and staring off into space. “Oh god I saw her die that Christmas.”

 

James' eyes widened, not needing to ask for confirmation before the ghost explained.

 

“It was... the fever that took her I think? Or was it the seizures? Or was it the septicaemia? Maybe it was the cold that did her in.” James moved the ghost's head so that it laid on the doctor's lap, the living man knowing that Stretch would tell him on his own. “Christmas Day... could you imagine that? Dying on the happiest day of the year should b-be banned.”

 

Dr Harvey did little to pry. At the moment Stretch needed a drinking buddy more than he needed a therapist. Knocking back his flute of champagne and absinthe he stated in turn, the harsh alcohol making him stutter. “W-we lost Amelia around fourth of J-july. Smoke inhalation. Some punk kid was shooting lit fireworks at people's houses and we we're unlucky enough to actually catch fire. I was working overtime and Kat was over at a friend's house. S-shit luck right? Those photos I gave Kat were some of the only ones I was able to save. We lost _everything_ that day...”

 

“Everything?” The ghost echoed, looking up at the doctor from his place on his lap.

 

“ **Everything**.”

 

“I know she told me. Heh guess we both hate the holidays right? Ha!” Stretch laughed out of bitterness, deciding to try and steady himself up but failing due to the sheer amount of alcohol in him. “I... I just want to sleep through this entire goddamn time of year. Like turn off the switch and wake me up when New Year's in.”

 

“I know. And everyone you meet tells you; you should be over it, why are you still upset, you should be celebrating in their honour.”

 

“What if they were the only one's worth celebrating?” Stretch whispered sadly, looking like he could pass through the floor if he so wished.

 

James nodded and agreed half-heartedly. He wanted to make sure that his friend made it back to bed safely. “You want to head up now and catch some zzz's?”

 

“Sure.” Stretch got up on shaky ecto, all but clutching James' hand as he was led like a shy teen out of the wine cellar.

 

The snow was certainly a lot heavier now. Almost all of the lights were off and nothing could really be heard. Even the snow itself was silent, falling like powdered sugar onto the ground. The two men slowly made their ways up the stairs, falling all over each other as Stretch's drunken over-confidence made him trip every other step while James' newly tipsy mind underestimated every step he took.

 

After five minutes of bumping and pushing against each other, they finally made it into the upstairs hallway. About to part ways, James and Stretch said their goodbyes as if they'd never see each other again.

 

“Good night Stretch.” James smiled wide, his hair tousled and his new robe loose.

 

“Good night... James.” Stretch smiled back, for once deciding to use the doctor's given name for once.

 

Dr Harvey was about to ask why the formalities when he felt a sharp sting of something cold grace his lips. Stretch floated to his room quickly, leaving the dumbstruck doctor to stand in the middle of the hallway and wonder what had just happened.

 

He didn't think much on it though. He was sure he saw a mistletoe somewhere around the manor.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The long awaited Christmas chapter. Had fun referencing the older chapters and had fun building up certain relationships. ;D Please leave a review and have a nice day!


	8. How She was

Casper was frustrated.

 

Frustrated because his uncles were being so secretive. Frustrated because Dr Harvey wouldn't tell him why. Frustrated because Kat was obviously hiding something from him. And most of all, he was frustrated because he still couldn't remember _anything_.

 

Sure, the last few weeks had been wonderful. He had learned or re-learned so much about his family ever since Halloween and he had even seen sides of his uncles that he was unaware even existed. But that was the problem. He knew only about them. He still knew so little about  _ her _ .

 

So it was decided during the wet grey morning of Boxing Day that he would finally ask.

 

“Tell me about my mother.”

 

Uncle Stretch choked on his sip of coffee, his violet eyes bloodshot as if he – and unbeknownst to the rest of his housemates barring Dr Harvey had – spent the whole night drinking. He coughed a little and wiped his mouth before responding in a groggy voice. “Why are you asking me?”

 

“Because you seem to know the most about her. When we looked at Uncle Stinkie's photos you were the first to recognise her.” Casper insisted, recalling that every piece of information he had learned about his mother came from either his eldest uncle or from the photographs, now all sitting happily in an album somewhere in the library.

 

Stretch paused for a minute in consideration before making an involuntary belch, looking a bit green. It was quickly becoming more evident that he wouldn't be of much use. “Look short-sheet, I'm not in the mood for reminiscing. Go ask Fatso, he and your Ma were best friends back in the day.”

 

Casper sighed but agreed. “Okay, I'll ask him first.” He turned to pass through the kitchen wall when he offered. “There's painkillers in the top cupboard.”

 

“Thanks.” the older ghost mumbled, beginning his slow journey to the other side of the breakfast table.

 

Fatso was found, unsurprisingly, in front of the tv watching sitcom reruns. He was half-awake and balancing a plate of turkey and stuffing sandwiches on his stomach when his nephew floated in. “Mornin' short-sheet.” he greeted tiredly, having been kept awake by Stretch's drunken sleep talking.

 

“Hi Uncle Fatso!” Casper greeted back with his usual enthusiasm, plopping down next to him. “I just asked Stretch something and he said to ask you about it.”

 

“What's it? Girls? Because Stretch is a dirty liar if he said he knows nothin'.”

 

Casper waved his hand dismissively and quickly replied. “No no! Nothing like that! Well it about  _ a _ girl. One you knew back in the day.”

 

“Huh?” Fatso raised a brow, unsure if there even was a gal he knew that Stretch didn't.

 

“My mother. I need to know more about her.” the younger ghost finally admitted, sounding more desperate than he wanted to be. “Stretch can't help because he's... out of it, and Uncle Stinkie went shopping with the Kat and Doctor Harvey.”

 

“Oh!” Fatso's eyes widened, looking pleasantly surprised. He shifted in his seat, putting the plate of sandwiches on the coffee table. “Well I DO remember a lot about your Ma. I think we were in the same year of school together. She was like the daughter of some Spanish bigwig and had three older sisters running around. Guess one day she got lonely enough and decided to hang out with me and the boys. The rest is history.”

 

Casper marvelled. Never had he thought that he had aunts that he hadn't met, or that his mother was of Spanish decent. He asked carefully so not to combust from excitement. “How did you meet?”

 

Fatso paused. He sat deep in thought for a long time, only moving so to stare out the window at the wilted flowerbeds. Casper feared that his uncle may have forgotten such an event, but was proved wrong when he was asked a question in turn.

 

“What do you call those blue flowers that are really small but have a long name?”

 

Casper was thrown off by the question, not knowing its significance. Guessing, he answered. “Forget-me-nots?”

 

“Oh god, now I remember! Forget-me-nots... heh.” Fatso let out a laugh at the irony of the name, a look of remembrance on his face. “I was... somewhere around seven years old I think? Stretch and Stinkie had gone on “big kid” classes so I got off school earlier than them. JT was being home-schooled so I was by myself when school ended. Until I'd meet up with her.”

 

***

 

Frederick “Fatso” McFadden, unfortunately, lived up to his nickname.

 

What was but a simple baby name meant to signify a healthy weight had become a well fitting moniker as he grew up and out of infancy. He wasn't dangerously obese in any sense of the word, but the terms “portly” and “rotund” had suddenly become everyday words in peoples vocabularies once they met him.

 

His unusual shape was not due to inactivity, he could keep pace with even the skinniest child, but it was more so due to the environment in which he was raised. For at least two years of his life he had been the spoiled younger child of a small family. It was a position that before him was held by Stinkie who grew out of most of the habits as he was placed in the middle in the line of siblings. But unlike him Fatso didn't shed any of his hungry habits as he moved to the position of second-youngest with the birth of JT.

 

It may have been because some of Fatso's earliest memories revolved around birthdays and banquets from when the McFaddens were at their most wealthy. Big old feast and festivities with enough food to feed five hundred people never mind five alone. So it had become natural that Fatso equalled food to happiness. Even as happiness became scarcer than subsistence.

 

“Just look at him. Such corpulence for a boy his age!” he had overheard the schoolmarm whisper to his mother one afternoon, her own matronly figure somehow an non-issue. “I dare say he has more butter than brains in that head of his.”

 

Lady McFadden should have maybe gasped or denied such allegations, but what she said next burned into the young Fatso's mind. “I'm only glad that it's his weight that anyone notices. He doesn't have a very intelligent face or mind to accompany it.”

 

From there Fatso decided in his seven-year old line of thought that people seeing him as “dumb” was far worse than seeing him as “fat”. No matter how hard keeping up the illusion was.

 

He could remember that day like it happened only a week ago.

 

“Oh no...” he whispered as the slip of paper was placed in front of him, red marks marring it. He had honestly tried his best this time and even then he failed. His spelling had never been the best but his brothers had tried their best to prepare him for the weekly quiz. Then again he was beginning to suspect that Stretch couldn't read and that Stinkie didn't care so much about school in general.

 

The schoolmarm pursed her lips and sneered loudly as she continued to hand out the test results. She had always been a harsh critic. “Barely a single one correct. Obviously what you lack in brains, you make up for in bulk.”

 

The class responded with a series of braying laughter and spit balls. Fatso sunk into the chair, hoping that the floor would just swallow him up. Luckily within a few minutes the teacher had moved on to another “trouble” student.

 

When the schoolmarm spoke again, her voice was far harsher and far more charged then before. “Ms Sombra, I do not expect perfect punctuation from you, but what I DO expect is English.”

 

The class's attention went immediately to a girl sitting in the back of the class, her pale blond wiry hair curled so that it rested on her shoulders. She looked up at the teacher with scared eyes, having seen the harsh treatment given to the boy before her.

 

“When I asked: a place where one would go to sleep, what did you put down?”

 

“Dormitorio?” the girl responded, unsure to why her answer was wrong.

 

“Tsk, tsk, tsk...” The teacher shook her head, sounding more mocking than disappointed. “The answer is “bedroom”, you stupid girl. Any what exactly is a “jardin”? Pig Latin?”

 

The girl look positively terrified, stuttering her answer. “It- it's a place where you grow f-flowers.”

 

“No. It is not. A garden is where one would grow flowers. Now can you tell me what you put down for the question: something that you can see through put can not touch? Obviously you failed to answer “air” like ninety percent of the class did.”

 

The other children laughed, their attention completely removed from Fatso and onto the hapless foreign girl, now shaking in her seat.

 

“Fan- fantasma!” She spluttered out, close to crying.

 

“And what exactly is a fant-as-ma?” The schoolmarm drew out the word mockingly, unaware that one other child understood the word. “Another one of your _foreigner_ words no doubt.”

 

“Ooh! I know Miss!” Fatso involuntarily answered, having heard many of words from whenever Stinkie would read one of his novellas aloud. “It means a ghost!”

 

The class stood still for a moment before erupting into loud cackles, the schoolmarm's being the loudest. “A ghost! How wrong could you possibly be? Miss Sombra I'm afraid this is another test where you have not gotten _any_ of the answers correct. Can you do anything right?”

 

Fatso immediately felt terrible, thinking that he had now doomed this poor girl. Without much thought he stood up and exclaimed. “But Miss she IS right!”

 

The laughing tempered a bit, the spotlight fixated on the larger child.

 

“Oh? Well in that case, Frederick, please explain to the class exactly why _any_ of Ms Sombra's answers were correct.”

 

“A phantom is a ghost. You can see through a ghost. And you can't touch it. So she's right.” Fatso argued the best a seven year old could, feeling sweat trickle down his collar as more heads turned to stare him down. “A-and jardin is just garden spelt a different way. And dormo-tories are rooms with beds in'em. And maybe you shouldn't... be so mean to her... since she's... right?”

 

He went quiet just as the the room did, only the sounds of birds and the nearby stream breaking against the rocks and the silence.

 

The schoolmarm breathed in deep for a moment before ordering. “Front of the class Frederick. Five for insubordination. Five for stupidity. And one more for believing in such nonsense.” She made a quick stride to her desk, dragging the large boy by the ear.

 

Fatso gulped, realising that he may have made a mistake.

 

A couple of minutes and sixteen painful strikes across his backside later (the extra five were added for when the switch broke against his leg), Fatso stood outside the schoolhouse wiping residual tears from his face. He watched as the other kids ran across the bridge to join their friends and family, all excited that the school day had finally ended.

 

Fatso wondered if Mother would come and pick him up today. Ever since JT had begun his own schooling she had started staying at home to oversee his studies. Which frequently left her third son in the hands of his older brothers who would pass by the schoolhouse on their way home in case he was still standing there.

 

At the moment however, they didn't seem to be coming.

 

At first Fatso had thought that they were running late. They couldn't have forgotten him, it simply wasn't possible. Each brother would have immediately noticed if even one member of their tight-knit group was missing and would have ran to make up the time. Even if they had, for whatever reason, had gotten off school early they would have burst in and collected their third brother so they could all enjoy the long afternoon off. That was just how they operated. But as the sun started to dip beneath the clouds and make everything a harsh orange colour, Fatso concluded that they might of forgotten him for once.

 

As he worried about how he was going to get home at this hour, he felt a tap on his shoulders.

 

Still jumpy from what the teacher had done, he swung around and cowered from his perceived threat. Only to discover the girl from earlier, standing there with her hair frazzled and her blue eyes damp. She had angry red marks where the schoolmarm's switch had struck her, the skin breaking in some places.

 

“You have big arms.” She said aloud, ignoring the droplets of blood that soaked through her periwinkle blue pinafore.

 

Fatso turned away, feeling both embarrassed and angry. Embarrassed that he had made a fool of himself for defending her. And angry that she would thank him by putting attention back onto his weight. “Yeah.” He responded curtly, hoping that she would go away.

 

“You must give the best hugs.”

 

“Oh!” Fatso looked back up at her again, now feeling more flattered than upset. He put his pudgy arms around himself, confirming the hold to be fairly soft. “Oh. I guess I would, huh?”

 

They stood there in relative silence for a few more minutes, the sky starting to mix dark blue with the orange, signalling the end of the early Spring day. The forget-me-nots that lined the edge of the creek were beginning to retreat into their petals for the night.

 

The girl was the first to offer. “I live near your house. My papa can't pick me up today, so can I walk home with you?”

 

“Yes!” He blurted out immediately, starting to feel a little bit scared (though he wouldn't admit it) as it became dark enough for a ghost of moonlight to peak through the clouds. He coughed and repeated in a deeper voice. “Uh, I mean. Yes. That would be nice.”

 

“Okay. I'm Sapphire. What's your name?” She asked, taking his hand into hers as they walked across the bridge.

 

“Fatso.”

 

“That's not it. The teacher calls you Frederick.”

 

“I like Fatso. How would you feel if you were called Miss Sombra all the time?”

 

“Hmm. True. Still, you might get really skinny one day and the name wouldn't stick anymore.”

 

Fatso thought about this for a moment before dismissing it. “Nah. It would still work.”

 

“How come?”

 

“Then it would be iron-nic and then people would get nervous whenever they ask for; a Fatso.”

 

“Ah! Now I see it. Like they ask someone a bit bigger and they get really mad?” She realised, her smile bright enough to blind someone. “And you'd sit there laughing cus' you know they're asking for you!”

 

The two laughed and almost instantly decided to be best friends. They continued conversing like this for the half hour it took to walk to the street which held Whipstaff Manor and the large rows of opulent town-houses and acre-wide lawns that lined the hills leading up to it. The street lamps were alight but there was a distinct chatter in the air from children playing out after dusk and their parents coming home from work.

 

“Which one is yours?” Fatso asked as they came to the entrance of the street.

 

“None. I don't live on this street.”

 

“I thought you said you did!” He gasped in shock, wondering if he had been bamboozled.

 

“I said that I lived _near_ you. Not on the same street. We past my house about five minutes ago.” She replied with the air of someone who knew how to twist words. “I came with you because you looked really down and I thought you were really sweet for defending me.”

 

“Oh! Uh... thanks?” Fatso found himself blushing, barely noticing the three figures running down the path to meet him.

 

“Fatso!”

 

The third brother jumped at the distinct voices, turning to see Stretch, Stinkie, and JT racing each other to meet him. Stretch had started going through very awkward growth spurts that left him very gangly and ungraceful, making his wild leggy gait almost hilarious to watch. Stinkie ran with deliberate light footsteps, slowing when his asthma caught up with him and he had to breath in deep to make up for lost oxygen. JT ran with his five-year-old upper body almost completely rigid and his knees rotating wildly, looking as though his legs were trying to escape the rest of him.

 

“Where HAVE you been?” Stretch asked angrily, grabbing his brother by the shoulders. “We were worried sick! You were supposed to walk yourself home today.”

 

Fatso narrowed his eyes in confusion. “I was?”

 

Stinkie rolled his eyes and explained. “Me and Stretch had the day off and Ma had us stay for JT's piano recital. We told you about it last night.”

 

The third brother's face went red, realising that he had been waiting around for nothing. Turning back to the girl he apologised. “I guess you really didn't have to walk me home...”

 

“I still did though.” She rebuffed, standing her ground. “I will continue to do so.”

 

“Wh-why? I'm not that good a company and all I did was waste your time.”

 

“I like you.” She said bluntly, not budging an inch.”You're nice and very sweet. You didn't waste my time at all. Wasting time would be standing around for hours waiting on someone who wouldn't come.”

 

The two eldest brothers scratched their necks nervously, feeling her blue eyes bore into them. She took her glare off of them and offered. “And to stop it from happening again, I want to walk home with you. Even if someone comes for you or even if the weather is bad. If you want to.”

 

Fatso was dumbstruck by her speech, finding himself unable to answer.

 

Luckily JT did it for him.

 

“Of course!” the youngest brother almost squeaked, a faint blush peppering his face. “He'd love it!”

 

“Bro!” Fatso barked, feeling his own face get redder.

 

“You need friends.” JT said back boldly, putting his hands on his sides like he had seen Father do hundreds of times before. “And she wants to be yours. Don't you get picky!”

 

“Fine!” Fatso huffed in annoyance before turning back to the girl, determined to give his own answer. “I'd very much like that! But only if I'm allowed to escort you home as well.”

 

“Great!” Sapphire clapped her hands together happily, turning to leave the street. “I'll see you tomorrow then! Bye Fatso!”

 

Before any of them could ask and offer to walk her to her own house, she had sped down the road, kicking up cut grass and cobblestones in her wake. The clicking of her black school shoes against the brick footpath echoed for another few minutes even after she disappeared from sight.

 

Stretch tapped Fatso's shoulder, asking him in a hushed tone as if he were asking for classified information. “Just who was she?”

 

“I think she's my best friend.” Fatso replied, still staring down the street. A goofy smile stretching across his face.

 

***

 

Casper's eyes were wide. He had never thought of his mother as being so tenacious and bold. Then again he could see where some of her traits had rubbed onto him. After all, she did seem very determined to make friends with people.

 

“So you and my Mom became best friends because... she tricked you.”

 

Fatso shrugged and admitted. “What can I say? I wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed. And the guys loved her for it. She could pull pranks, twist words, and tumble around even better than us sometimes. She was almost like a little sister to us. Well... not really since she married into the family, but you get the picture.”

 

“What happened after?”

 

“What do you think? We grew up together.” His uncle asked back, looking almost blissful as he rummaged through his childhood memories. “We'd meet up after school, we'd play around in the creek, we'd explore the forests around town, we'd play baseball, and then we'd all sneak into the scrapyard that our Uncle Albert owned and mess around with the junk we'd find. And in the summer when me and the boys had to spend a few weeks with our Aunt out on the farm, she'd walk the entire distance from Friendship to Deedstown just to see us.”

 

He sighed deeply. Trying to breath in whatever he could of those times. “Man... she was just the best person in the world. Then we... got older.”

 

“What's wrong with getting older?” Casper asked, not seeing why it would be a problem. He felt his uncle's hand rest on his shoulder and began to realise.

 

“As we got older, she got older. When we got older, there wasn't any problem. But when she got older, it suddenly was.” Fatso tried to explain the best he could without delving into dangerous territory. “And when we all got older we were told to... act like it.”

 

***

 

“Freddy.” Aunt Spitzy suddenly spoke up one hot summer afternoon, taking a lazy drag of her cigarette as she watched today's visitor exit the front gate.

 

“Hmm?” Fatso acknowledged from his seat on the porch, him and two of his brothers indulging in a hearty stack of beef and pickle sandwiches as the day drew to a close.

 

“That Sombra girl. You planning on proposing anytime soon?”

 

Fatso choked on his bite of beef, feeling either brother next to him pound on his back as he managed to dislodge the food from his throat. He wheezed out. “What?!”

 

Aunt Spitzy removed the slender cigarette holder from her lips and cackled. “Only joking with you sonny! Still, you might want to snatch her up before someone else does.” She leaned back in her rocking chair and made a deep cough before commenting. “Few girls would walk through three hours of farmland and brambles just to see somebody.”

 

“She's our friend Auntie! We'd never marry her!” the Trio protested, all with varying degrees of honesty.

 

“Well, she's not coming over to see Maim now is she?” The older woman teased, referring to her now grown-up daughter. “She's out of luck then. Maim's already in a Boston Marriage.”

 

The Trio groaned, remembering their older female cousin. Cousin Mame, or rather “Maim” due to the years of cuts and scars gained from playing in the briar patches when she was little, was technically the first out of all of their cousins to marry. And she would never let them live it down, even as she moved away from home to be with her spouse in Manhattan.

 

“Auntie please.” Stinkie pleaded, looking a little put off at the idea of marriage in general. He was still only eighteen after all. “We're too young for that.”

 

“That's not what your parents have been saying!” Spitzy laughed again, hacking into the spittoon next to her rocking chair. “I had my girl in my later days and even I know you should start looking! You kids these days are getting hitched earlier and earlier with each passing year. Soon I'll have no more baby nephews to dote on.” She looked thoughtful for a spilt-second before taking a sharp drag of smoke and making rings with her breath.

 

“No worries about us Auntie!” Stretch cackled in a similar manner to his aunt, scratching the ear of a scruffy farm cat that had taken residence on his lap. “Me and the boys will be bachelors 'till the day we die.”

 

The other two laughed nervously. Both uncertain for very different reasons.

 

“Sides' if all else fails, we'll just follow you and spend our days sitting on the porch drinking beer.” Stretch gained a smack on the back of the head for that comment. The laughter on the porch was now more genuine, Stinkie steering the conversation from marriage to how the only missing McFadden brother was doing in school.

 

Fatso was the first to stop laughing.

 

The idea of dying alone strangely didn't appeal to him very much. So he made the decision to buy a ring the next day.

 

***

 

“So wait.” Casper interrupted, finally catching the implication. “You tried to... marry my Mom?” His ectoplasm turned a sickly shade of green at the thought.

 

“Nothing came of it! I swear!” Fatso blurted, waving his hands defensively. He sighed and slumped over slightly, a mix of embarrassment and sorrow on his face. “I was a dumb kid, Casp. I didn't want to end up old and alone like Aunt Spitzy. I thought maybe if I got married, then I wouldn't be so scared of what lay ahead of me.”

 

The younger ghost saw the sadness on his uncle's face and realised that Stretch's mindless predictions had in fact come true. Carefully he asked. “So what happened? Why... **didn't** you get married.”

 

“'Cus your Ma knew me better than I did.”

 

***

 

“Will you marry me?”

 

“No.”

 

“Oh.” Fatso deflated from his kneeling position, the gold band still sitting between his thumb and index finger. “I look like an idiot right now huh?”

 

“Yes.” Sapphire agreed bluntly, hands resting on her thighs. She was wearing a blue sun dress, and chain of mismatched flowers wrapped around her head. She laid back down on the red gingham blanket and resumed her activity of staring up at the clouds.

 

The set up had been perfect. Fatso had convinced his brothers to let him collect Aunt Spitzy's messages from town while they did field work, claiming that he was beginning to go stir-crazy. In actuality, along with the messages, he had bought a ring with his own money.

 

Today would be the day he asked her. They met half-way down the road and she was delighted at the prospect of a picnic by the river. They frolicked and gambolled for hours, running through tall grasses and getting scratched by hidden thistles and stung by six-foot tall nettles.

 

And finally when they were both tired out and sprawled across the table cloth Fatso had nicked from the kitchen, he finally popped the question.

 

Only to be rebuffed.

 

Fatso lay back down, confused. He had set everything up perfectly. He had flowers, food, and had even asked Stretch for advice on what to say. Then again all Stretch did was laugh and go back to his book. With his worries overtaking reason, he asked. “Why not?”

 

“Because it's not what either of us want.”

 

“But... why?” Fatso continued to wonder, thinking that he had messed up somewhere during the process.

 

Sapphire raised herself into a sitting position and said in a frustrated tone. “We're friends, Fatso! If I had wanted to marry you, I would have eloped the moment we left school.” She brushed strands of grass off her skirt, her fingers stained green from where she picked flowers for her daisy chains. “I don't want to marry because I'm far too young. And you only want to marry because you think you're getting too old.”

 

“Oh god.” Fatso came to the horrific realisation of what a dumb a decision he had almost made. “Oh god. I made a HUGE mistake.” He panicked, dropping the ring like it was still hot from the smith's fire. “It's just that I... I'm scared that if I don't do it now; then when?”

 

Sapphire gave him an understanding look and soothed. “Don't worry, mi gordo. My sister married a man in his fifties. You have plenty of time to find someone. Just make sure that someone is not me, okay?”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Or that weird girl from the distillery.”

 

“I have to have _some_ standards Saph.” Fatso playfully scoffed, looking away from her. He grew quite as crickets sang the prelude to their evening song “Are we... still friends?”

 

“Of course! Why wouldn't we be?” the girl replied, acting as if she had immediately forgiven him for the whole debacle. “Just because you tried to marry me, doesn't mean we can't be friends. You aren't the first to try.”

 

“Phew! I was worried there for a second.” Fatso chuckled, deciding that at least the day wasn't a complete disaster. Both of them cast a quick look at the discarded ring and the boy asked aloud. “Any idea on what we should do with that?”

 

Sapphire got a blinding smile on her face and devised. “I have an idea, but I need to borrow Stinkie's fishing rod.”

 

It was a great idea.

 

If the four-foot-long catfish they caught that afternoon said anything about it.

 

***

 

“So you both stayed friends even after that?” Casper asked, secretly glad that the situation hadn't gone in another direction.

 

“Of course we did!” Fatso confirmed, looking positively elated to have remembered such a day. “As she said; I wasn't the first to try and marry her.”

 

“Marry who?”

 

The two ghost's jumped in their seats, turning only to see Stinkie floating into the parlor, smelling like raw fish and snow. He had two bags of unspecified groceries in his hands and seemed rather tired. Casper wondered where their other housemates where only for Stinkie to fill in the gaps.

 

“Doc and the kid had to do something at the post office and they sent me home with the stuff.” he explained, leading his brother and nephew into the kitchen to continue their talk. “I was able to work in a scare at the market but the kid whacked me over the head for it.”

 

He sloppily put things away into the fridge and cupboard before asking. “Now what's this I hear of Fatso and marriage?”

 

“Uncle Fatso was telling me of the time he tried proposing to my Mom.” Casper answered quickly, knowing that his younger uncle would have stuttered or denied it.

 

Stinkie got a surprised look on his face and looked to be in deep thought before confirming. “Yep that happened. Saph always laughed whenever someone brought it up.” Fatso got a strange pinkish tinge to his ecto as Stinkie continued. “I remember them coming home with this huge catfish and Saph laughing about how it was her _dowry_. Took me and Stretch forever to find out she was joking. I guess we figured it out when we found a ring in the fish guts.”

 

“It was her idea.” Fatso mumbled quietly, now feeling more embarrassed than glad for remembering it.

 

“'Course it was.” Stinkie grinned, beginning to recall the Trio's summers spent on Aunt Spitzy's farm. “She always had the best ideas. You know, until she went to that lady school.”

 

“Lady school?” Casper raised a brow, wondering if he meant an all-female school or college.

 

“Finishin' schools they were called. “ Fatso explained the best he could. “Sometimes girls were sent to them to learn how to... girl. She went to one when she was like seventeen and came back a year later.”

 

“And she HATED it!” Stinkie emphasised, venom in his voice. “She never wanted to be some prissy china doll just so she could bag a guy twice her age. She was a firecracker. A real person. Not some cookie-cutter “lady” like her folks wanted her to be.”

 

“Is that why you tried marrying her then?” Fatso asked suddenly, only afterwards realising the weight of what he said. “Oh wait.”

 

Casper looked green again, perhaps even more so than when Fatso had told him his own story.

 

Stinkie got this timid look on his face, trying to hide behind his rested arms. “Jeez... you just had to bring that up, didn't cha?” He straightened up after seeing the horrified look on his nephew's face and began. “Oh well, no beating around the bush. Here's what happened, bulb-head.”

 

***

 

Stuart “Stinkie” McFadden did not like what he was seeing.

 

“What” would be a subject term. If you were to ask him “what” was wrong, he would bluntly and firmly say; Sapphire Sombra. He didn't hate her. He just couldn't. They had been friends since forever and beyond. But in the year that she'd been away, something had drastically changed in her.

 

No more did she make casual swears and sharp biting insults, but now she peppered her speech with long flowery words and hidden meanings. No more did she run through fields in a long flowing sun dresses or riding pants, but now her pace had slowed as if her four layers of petticoats were weighing her down. No more did she shovel bread and cheese down her throat to sate her hunger, but now her tastes and habits were so stiff that she refused to even eat onions due to their offensive odour.

 

Stinkie stared down the length of Aunt Spitzy's breakfast table, his eyes coming to a stop at the heavily dressed, bonnet wearing woman that sat before him.

 

The clock tickled methodically as silence lingered between them. His brothers and his aunt were gone that day, gone to the market to sell their fattest pigs. Stinkie would have loved to have come and to soak up the hot musty air but the freshly-cut hay from the neighbouring fields had seen it fit to choke him to death. So now he was left alone in the house with Sapphire. It had been the first time in an entire year that they had seen each other and the awkwardness was tangible.

 

“Tea?” he offered, trying to be polite.

 

“Milk and two teaspoons of sugar if you please.” She answered in a zephyr-like accent, the remaining traces of her mother tongue were gone, erased as if she had never born two thousand miles away. “And may I please have a wedge of lemon of which to flavour it?”

 

Stinkie involuntarily shuddered. He did not like how she was talking. The Sapphire he'd known spoke bluntly and with harsh inflections, her Spanish accent soft and loud all at once. “Okay.” He filled the kettle with water and placed it on the stove, not taking his eyes off the woman for even a second.

 

“So? How was England?” He asked, not caring in the slightest for England, but just waiting for anything to break that monotonous drawl in her voice. “Must'a been... big.”

 

“Indeed it was.” She said, again in that odd almost pre-recorded voice, not even moving her head to meet him. “I found it to be utmost stimulating.”

 

Stinkie felt his eyes roll back into his head, hands clasped tightly together as if they were shaking. He breathed in deep, regretting it when he picked up the heavy scents of lavender and rose, suppressing his coughs until he needed to breathe again. The kettle burbled and hissed as the water and Stinkie's patience began to reach the boiling point.

 

He continued to stare her down like she was an imposter, a fake, a distraction from where the true Sapphire was being held. Maybe the finishing school had broken her? Maybe the teachers over there were worse than the ones here. Maybe being away for so long had told her that she didn't need a bunch of crude-talking beer drinkers for friends. Maybe she was fully and thoroughly brainwashed. Who knows?

 

When the kettle screamed to life, Stinkie wordlessly filled their cups with tea, making a show of slowly cutting a slice of lemon and placing it beside her cup. He then set the two cups on the table along with the cream and sugar, figuring that a “proper lady” should at least dictate how she takes her damn tea.

 

As he took the first sip, he spotted something out of the corner of his eye.

 

Her devilish smirk.

 

“You witch!” He nearly shouted, putting his tea down fast enough for it to splash onto his fingers. He grinned wildly as her facade broke and she fell into a series of braying laughter. “You've been taking the piss the entire time haven't you?”

 

“Ha!” She let out a distinctly un-ladylike laugh, filling almost half of her cup with cream. “You think I'd ever use the word “stimulating” without a dirty joke?”

 

“Oh wow. You really got me there Saph!” Stinkie wheezed, half from laughter and half from her deliberately weak perfume. “What are you even wearing? You look like you got attacked by a closet.” He rasped his knuckles on the whalebone and silk cage surrounding her torso and jumped back when it made a hollow knocking sound.

 

“It's called _h_ _aute couture_. At least that's what my sisters call it.” She laughed while kicking off her tight restrictive shoes. “I swear I wasn't allowed to wear anything below three layers of skirts. Not because of the cold, but because a lady with southern necessities is apparently too outrageous to exist in this day and age.”

 

“Southern necessities? Sounds dirty.”

 

Her face gained a light blush when she realised how wrongly the term could be taken. “Damn. I meant to say trousers. I swear I've lost half of my language since I've been away.”

 

“You mean you weren't allowed to say “pants” over there?”

 

“I wasn't even allowed to say “leg” or “bottom”! It was as if I was speaking to toddlers!”

 

They laughed for a good while. Sapphire letting her language run wild and regaling the “outrageous” things she had done while in England. Stinkie following them by telling her of his father's fruitless attempts at marrying him and his brothers off while she was out of the picture.

 

“He called you a _bad influence_.” he laughed into his cup, the tea now pleasantly cool.

 

“Now where did he get that from?” she smiled back, her pearly whites on display like a crocodile preparing to strike.

 

“God, where to start?” Stinkie put his cup down and began listing off. “One: You're the only gal we've ever bothered to befriend. Two: you're a bad example of a fine Victorian lady. And three: he's convinced that you're about to elope with any one of us.”

 

“Who says that I'm not?”

 

She laughed deeply with her hand poised near her mouth like a noblewoman, almost perfectly mimicking how Lady McFadden would laugh in the company of men. Stinkie found himself chuckling awkwardly into his drink, a hundred thoughts going through his head.

 

Trying to get his mind off of unpleasant scenarios, he asked. “When was the last time you actually had fun? Not like “I saw an old lady use the wrong fork at dinnertime and had a few good yucks”, but actual genuine fun. Doubt you were allowed to run off and do whatever.”

 

Sapphire sighed and tried her best to recall a point during the last year where she had actually enjoyed herself. Defeated she answered. “I didn't. Tried too, but I was caught enough times that they started locking me in my dorm.”

 

Stinkie gave her his own devilish grin. “Well, what do you say we let our hair down and go for a nice old run? It's no carnival, but the weather's fine!”

 

He continued giving her a mischievous smile, just knowing that she'd be the first out the door and onto the grass.

 

“I can't.”

 

Okay he didn't expect  _ that _ .

 

Silence overtook the room again, now more tense.

 

Biting the bullet, he asked. “Why not? Don't tell me they banned you from running too?”

 

Sapphire looked down at her now cold cup of tea and mumbled. “I just can't. My lungs haven't been good to me for the past while. I got sick somewhere during February and I haven't seen the end of it.”

 

“Not a problem I can't handle!” Stinkie boasted, making an emphatic wheeze. “If you're still choking by the time we get outside, we can just go swimming. Floating isn't too stressful an exercise.”

 

“Swimming alone with a confirmed bachelor; how scandalous!” Sapphire teased, already removing her bonnet and gloves. Stinkie wondered if such level of undress would be considered obscene, but he had little time to wonder when she ran out the back door, gaining a ten foot head start.

 

They spent that afternoon wonderfully. They jumped in hay piles, they startled flocks of birds, and when both pairs of their lungs gave out, they made a slow but playful journey to the riverside. The river was sluggish and calm this time of day, the flow broken every few metres by clusters of rocks or the fallen trunks of trees.

 

Whilst Stinkie had stripped himself of everything but his undergarments, Sapphire jumped in still in her chemise and corset. She looked more ready to settle into bed than to do a few laps. He couldn't fault her, after all he wasn't about to ask a woman why she wasn't down to her skivvies, that's how you get slapped.

 

“Did'ya get into trouble back in England? Your sister, either Sarah or Josie I think, said you almost caused a riot!” He shouted, deafened by the water surrounding his ears.

 

“Of course!” She shouted back, her clothes inflating and bunching around her hips. “I ran off after lights out to see a showing of HMS Pinafore. I got _arrested!_ ” She smiled brightly when she said that, looking as though it were her greatest achievement.

 

“How did'ya manage that?”

 

“They thought I was kidnapped or ran off with a beau! They'd stormed the town centre trying to find me. I got scared and hid under a bridge for two hours because I thought it was some sort of police raid.” She continued, wet twigs tangled in her hair. “They had to interrogate the ticket taker just to see if I was lying.”

 

“God, that's almost as bad as what Stretch got up too.” Stinkie gave her a knowing wink, unable to hold back the juicy gossip.

 

“Oooh!” She clapped her hands excitedly, trying her best to casually lean on a rock. “I knew he'd be the same devil as always! What did he do?”

 

“More like what he DIDN'T do.” Stinkie corrected, letting his legs float aimlessly in front of him. “You know Marta Van Denend? She was in my year back in school?”

 

“Didn't her family own the distillery downtown?” Her memory came back when he nodded in affirmation. “Oh her! My sister Francisca said in a letter that they were in a relationship. Am I right to assume it didn't last?”

 

Stinkie chortled and spat out a dead leaf. “Right you are! Didn't even last a month!”

 

“That doesn't seem to be that scandalous. Stretch has had many short-lived conquests before. And Marta changes out her men more frequently than her wardrobe.”

 

“That's where things got weird. I guess Marta's family wanted her to settle down or something, so she tried hooking up with Stretch somewhere around New Years. Big guess how that went.”

 

“He panicked and jumped out a second story window like last time?”

 

“Nah, it was more like a spilt-level deal, but you get the picture.” He answered not even breaking a sweat. Stretch had always reacted badly to the idea of commitment and his most infamous course of action was self-defenestration. Stinkie continued the bawdy tale with a look of confusion on his face.“She was real persistent though. If she'd wanted to get married full stop, you'd think she'd bag a guy old enough to croak on the honeymoon but no. She wanted Stretch and Stretch alone.”

 

Sapphire crinkled her nose and shuddered. “Gross.”

 

“I know. I thought she had standards.” He nodded in sympathy, honestly confused by how many women (and sometimes men) had fallen for his brother's charms. “Well, basically Stretch decided to nip the relationship in the bud and Marta didn't take it so well. She burst in during a party, screaming about how he'd knocked her up on Valentine's and how much of a bastard he was for abandoning her.”

 

“Oh god. Don't tell me he actually...” Sapphire balked, the idea of a little Stretch running around was terrifying to her.

 

Stinkie gave her a deadly grin and explained. “He didn't. That's the beauty of it. We were away visiting relatives that month. Her and Stretch had their four week flight about a month before. But she was obviously about five months along. So there, in the middle of the ballroom he told her “ _ Babe, I wasn't even in the city. Either that bun in your oven can time travel or I've got the biggest dick from here to Boston! _ ”. The whole room went quite. Marta couldn't even think of a good comeback, she just stalked him for the rest of the night.”

 

“Then what happened? I doubt she could keep it up for long.”

 

“Well eventually it turned out she _wasn't_ knocked up, but shed been fooling around with some poor schmoe that worked for her Da. He fessed up publicly and it turned out they'd been going at it even when she and Stretch were an item. Then there's that _other_ thing.”

 

“What other thing?”

 

“Oh!” Stinkie looked surprised, feeling as though he shouldn't had mentioned it at all. “Josie and Franny didn't tell ya? I guess Stretch'll tell you on his own. He doesn't like anyone going behind his back.” He steered the subject away and exclaimed. “Dad's going crazy though!”

 

“Why?” Sapphire asked, deciding to not chase the secret topic. “Did he get scared that he might have grandchildren running around soon?”

 

“Quite the opposite actually. He got scared that he didn't.” he made a short laugh to mask his unease. “Since the whole thing with Stretch, he's been really hitting over our heads about finding some nice gals and getting hitched. I think his biological clock is ticking.”

 

Sapphire groaned and emphasised. “I know. Papa has been trying to marry me to this weird fellow from New York. Spellman or whatever, and by god he bores me! At least if he were funny or was an uptight prick, I'd have fun messing with him, but no. Just... all style and no actual substance. He's like the silk shoe of humanity. Foie gras on an unsalted Graham cracker.”

 

She crossed her arms and huffed, resting her head against the rock. Stinkie saw the desperation in her eyes and asked. “You really don't want to get hitched do you?”

 

“I want to marry someone I love. Not someone I had picked out for me.” Tears were welling up in her eyes, cleverly excused as drippings from the river. She mumbled before going quite. “That's why they sent me away you know. To prep me for marriage. To prepare me so I wouldn't object...”

 

Stinkie got a horrible pit in his stomach. His own marital problems were minimal in comparison. He could be a bachelor til the day he died and no one would have seen any less of him. But Sapphire had her whole family and even polite society as a whole breathing down her neck. If she were to stay single, there was no telling what her family would do. Disown her? Toss her back to England for the rest of her life? Or would she become a hated lonely spinster who would disappear from history?

 

Every possibility scared him. So at the time it only made sense that he'd offer.

 

“How about we get hitched huh? Throw 'em off our trail.”

 

Sapphire stared back at him. Stunned beyond all measure.

 

Shaking from nerves, although it may have been from the cold water, he bargained. “I mean well. I'm not looking for anybody. You're expectin' to shack up with somebody. And if we do, nobody would care about it anymore!”

 

She continued staring at him, her smile falling the more he spoke.

 

“We can buy a normal house in the middle of nowhere and do whatever the hell we want. No nosy neighbours, no family members sticking there heads where they don't belong... Just us. We don't even have to consummate. Just get married on paper.”

 

She finally spoke up, her eyes turned away from him. “You know I can't marry someone I don't love.”

 

“I know” He agreed, still trying to sell the idea to her. “We could annul it a year later. Say we weren't compatible. I doubt I'd even live long enough to let you become a divorcee.” He laughed morbidly, feeling his lungs ache as they usually did. “You'd have your folks off your back... and you'd have the credit of being a beautiful widow. What do you think?”

 

“No... I just... can't do that!” She collapsed into her hands, sobbing like her life had ended. “I'm sorry Stinkie but I just can't!”

 

Stinkie felt like punching himself in the face. It was already a stupid idea, but he hadn't thought it would be so bad to make her cry. “You don't need to apologise for nothin' Saph. You don't need to marry nobody you don't want.” He rubbed her back, feeling an oddly similar racking in her breaths. “We don't need nobody.”

 

“I want to get married.” She continued to sob, clutching his shoulder. “I want to have children and to grow so old that all my teeth fall out. But I don't want to grow old and miserable.”

 

“You and me both Saph.” Stinkie continued rubbing her back, trying not to think of how strange the situation was. “You and me both...”

 

They stayed like that for a few more minutes, just letting out their worries and strife, hoping that they would all wash away down the river. They eventually retrieved their clothes, not wanting a scandal on their hands if a neighbouring farmer happened to be walk by, and returned home with heavy hearts and light minds.

 

Stinkie always wondered who would be the perfect man for her. So it came as a shock when she began courting his brother.

 

***

 

The three ghosts looked sad as the story came to a close, Stinkie himself close to crying. The sunlight outside had begun to grow dim, signalling the start of a long Winter night. The Harvey's had returned at some point but for whatever reason had decided to avoid the kitchen, both subconsciously knowing that something serious was taking place.

 

“You see short-sheet?” Stinkie croaked out, trying to hide his sorrow. “Your Ma was tough as nails. She never wanted to get hitched early or stop having fun. She was a gal with goals, with dreams. That's something all of us saw in her. You understand?”

 

Casper answered, his voice low and respectful. “I do. She was really unhappy when she got older huh?”

 

Fatso and Stinkie both exchanged pained looks, not wanting to give an honest answer.

 

“You thought you loved her. And you knew you didn't.” Casper compressed their tales, speaking freely and bold. “Then what was Uncle Stretch's excuse?”

 

The two brothers jumped back, both shocked that their nephew came to such a conclusion.

 

Nervously, the younger brother asked. “What makes you think he had something to excuse?”

 

“Because I found her damn diary!” Casper suddenly snapped, surprised by his own outburst. “I... found it in the same box as her dress. I spent all of last night reading it because I wanted to remember _her_ for once. Her and Stretch were together for a long time. Until she married Dad. Until she... had me.”

 

The two ghosts paled, realising that they couldn't keep it hidden. Stinkie was the first to say. “Yeah. They were a thing. But it fell apart about a year before she married your Dad.”

 

“And she didn't regret it.” Fatso continued, putting a transparent hand on Casper's shoulder. “She loved the hell outta JT and outta you. Don't you forget that.”

 

“But why hasn't Uncle Stretch told me anything?” the child demanded, his hands bunching up into fists. “He remembers her now! He should have remembered if they'd almost tied the knot! Why is he hiding so much from me?”

 

“I can't give you those answers short-sheet. Best if you ask him yourself.” Stinkie offered cautiously, wondering if his nephew was seconds away from a full meltdown.

 

“FINE!” Casper shouted, subconsciously slamming all of the doors as he left the kitchen. The pots and pan clanging together menacingly. The stove and fridge making eerie rumbling noises even after he'd left.

 

With the small angry ghost gone, Fatso sighed in relief. “Phew! Is it just me or is the kid getting scarier the more we tell him things?”

 

“What did you expect? He takes after his mother.”

 

***

 

“Hey.” Stretch greeted, holding a bunch of flowers. His eyes were still bloodshot and he feared that his speech was slurred. “Been a while. You know what with dying and all.”

 

She replied with an empty silence that hung high in the air. The wind filling in the gaps.

 

Stretch gave an empty smile and put the mess of daisies and forget-me-nots on the ground, sitting down as he did so. “Your kid is curious you know. Been floating around all day looking for answers. Answers 'bout you.”

 

The stone didn't respond. The granite was old and it was obvious that no soul inhabited the grave below. On it, as clear as the day it was carved was:

 

_Sapphire Sombra-McFadden_

_1879 – 1902_

“ _A Loving Mother and Dear Friend to All who knew Her”_

 

Stretch scoffed. No few words could describe her so well. “I never got you, you know? You had so much you still wanted to do. So much stuff to finish. So much to look forward to. But you never came back. Why?”

 

Predictably he didn't receive answer.

 

“I mean even Amelia came back for one last goodbye and she's confined to the upstairs.” he pointed to the clouds above as if the stone wouldn't catch his meaning. “But you never wanted to come back did you? No matter how miserable you were or how shitty a deck you'd been dealt, you had no unfinished business.”

 

The wind was picking up now, the sounds of a storm accumulating off the coast drifting inland with it.

 

“Nah. Casper was your unfinished business. He always had been. You tore yourself apart just trying to bring him into this world. Sorry I had to screw that up for you.”

 

Luckily the stone didn't agree nor disagree with him.

 

After many minutes of relative silence, Stretch finally asked the absent spirit. “Ever wonder what would have happened I'd said yes? Ever wonder how that might of worked out? It would have still been short but maybe we could have had some fun before we both bit it. Then again Casper wouldn't be here.”

 

“That never bothered you before.”

 

Stretch almost jumped out of his ecto. Whipping around he saw Casper, standing there with puffed cheeks and damp eyes. There was no mistaking it, he'd been crying.

 

“How much did you hear?”

 

“All of it.” Casper wiped his arm across his cheek, revealing a small hard backed book tucked under his arm. “And a lot more.” The letters engraved across the blue paper book said “Sapphire” and was accompanied by gold leaf embellishments and long red bookmarks.

 

Stretch's eyes widened when realised what the little book was. “You read her diary?”

 

“I had to!” Casper wept, furiously trying to rub his eyes dry. “I can't remember _anything_ about her! I thought that maybe... if I knew more about her... I'd know more about _me_.”

 

Stretch sighed and patted the ground next to him. When Casper joined him on the dirt he began. “Your Ma... was one the greatest women I had ever had the good fortune to know. She was kind, tough, and didn't take shit from anyone trying to put her down. Is it any wonder that we all fell?”

 

***

 

“Stretch! It's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding!”

 

Stretch fiddled with his cuff-links and groaned playfully. “C'mon Saph, it's half an hour 'til the wedding. I think I can survive half an hour of bad luck.”

 

The bride huffed through her heavy dress and veil. “Still! It's only polite to wait!”

 

“Couldn't wait. Stinkie is trying to drink himself to death and Fatso is seconds away from running off with the cake.” He joked as he tried and failed to re-button his suit jacket, his cane occupying his right hand. He had rapidly outgrown his muscles and it had become increasingly difficult for him to walk without the assistance of a walking stick. If only he could remember to bring the damn thing with him.

 

Sapphire giggled and helped him with his jacket, her hands encased in silk gloves. “I swear if it weren't for social conventions, I'd be married at the roadside by a druid monk before going through with this.” she said, her voice oddly serious.

 

Stretch coughed awkwardly and thought of their parents, adamant on making this day the most expensive, gaudy mess they could. Her dress was French imported and her veil inherited from her Grandmother. His tux had been bought merely hours before the wedding but his hair was unkempt and his shirt-front was starched so heavily that it could roll up unprovoked.

 

He saw the worried look in her eyes and asked concerned. “You okay? Nerves getting to ya?”

 

“Hmm.” She hummed, her lips pursed tightly in fear of crying. She admitted bluntly. “I'm scared Stretch. I really am.”

 

“We all are. It _is_ a pretty big day. I mean all of our families are out there, waiting for the big attraction.” He nodded, fixing the ruffles on her dress. He chuckled awkwardly when he mentioned. “Hell I think the whole town came.”

 

There was raucous laughter coming from the altar, proving his point correct. The distant sounds of the other McFadden brothers serenading the bridesmaids with a bawdy pub song could be heard from any directions. Lady McFadden had seen it fit to invite almost every reputable person in the county to attend the wedding.

 

Sapphire coughed nervously, her lungs making a harsh rattling sound. Her illness had worsened since she had returned from England and it had become such a fixture on her life that it almost called off the ceremony. But it would pass soon enough. “I'm so scared Stretch.”

 

“How do you think I feel?” he laughed, cupping either side of her deathly pale face. “You and my _little brother_ are getting married! God, I didn't think I'd live to see _any_ of us get hitched.”

 

“Stop that. You're not that far along.” She slapped his jacket playfully, returning to her makeup vanity. “Twenty-three is a fine old age, soon you'll have hair coming out your ears and more liver spots than teeth. What girl wouldn't marry you?”

 

“Marta Van Denend to name one.” He corrected, shuddering at the memory. His former girlfriend was actually among the list of guests, the plus-one of one of the older Sombra sisters. She had spent whatever time she had glaring at him with the intent of a rabid dog.

 

“Yes, but that wasn't through the lack of trying.”

 

They both laughed, hoping that they wouldn't alert any of the bridesmaids and cause a riot.

 

Stretch wiped a smudge of lipstick from her cheek and whispered. “You're gonna be amazing. No man alive would even think of treating you less than a queen.” As came down from his high, Stretch turned to leave the room, only to be given a most generous offer.

 

“Run away with me.”

 

His hand gripped the door knob, feeling the scuffed brass cut into his palm. Carefully he turned and asked, thinking that he had misheard her. “What?”

 

Sapphire stared ahead, her eyes both serious and terrified. “Run away.” She pleaded, tears already rolling down her powdered face. “Please?”

 

Stretch realised his grip on the door knob, making sure it was closed before kneeling down and asking her with the utmost sincerity. “Why in the hell do you think that's a good idea?”

 

“We can leave now.” She began, having clearly thought about it before. “Leave a note and elope to New York. Find jobs and live in a small house on the bay.”

 

The man scoffed, shaking his head. “I'm a dyslexic disabled man without a degree. Who in the hell would hire me?”

 

“Your cousins would. They'd cover us. And your Aunt Lacy would too. She knows better than anybody about marrying for love.”

 

Stretch winced, she'd really planned it all out. He wondered if some of the guests were in on it, waiting for them to disappear on a train. He argued back. “We'd be broke and our families would hunt us down.”

 

“We can get married in that little chapel in Deedstown and bounce on the evening train. No one would catch us.” She said this in a dreamy tone, giving one of her bright smiles. “We'd be free.”

 

“...I can't give you luxuries.” He muttered sadly, knowing that he was likely written out of his inheritance.

 

“I don't need any.”

 

“I can't give you a home.”

 

“We'll make one our own.”

 

“I can't even give you children!” he found himself shouting, realising that he was crying, whether from frustration or sorrow. Gasping for air, he murmured. “I can't give you a kid that'll out live you. I can't give you... a _family_. I could never do that for you.”

 

Stretch gritted his teeth and cursed whatever god lay above. It had been a surprising blow to him. Despite his free wheeling ways, he had always planned on becoming a father down the line. After the Marta Van Denend incident, Father had insisted that he have his reproductive health checked out. Only to find that the same dour condition that gave Stretch his gangly limbs and weak heart, would inevitably pass on to his children.

 

He could never bring a child into the world knowing that he had damned them to an early death.

 

Through his deaf strife, he felt Sapphire cup a silk glove under his chin and give him a smile bright enough to blind god. “Then I won't need family. I'll have you.”

 

Stretch considered it for a split second before shaking his head wildly. “I'm sorry Saph. But _I_ need them. Even if I had you, I could never abandon my brothers.”

 

Her hands fell to her side, defeated. She stared ahead, her faze not moving from it's place in the vanity mirror.

 

“Two things are going to happen today. You're going to walk down that aisle and feel the best you've ever been in your life. And we're going to leave here in the arms of someone else.” He stated, shakily raising himself back onto his feet. “I hope you find happiness Saph. Just please don't let it be me.”

 

“Stephen! The groomsmen are suppose to be at the altar!” Josephine Sombra exclaimed, bursting into the room in her maid-of-honor gown. She was dressed to the nines and had been panicking the entire time it took to plan the wedding. “Are you okay?” She asked, rushing over to her youngest sister.

 

“Just pre-wedding jitters.” Stretch lied, regaining his joking demeanour. “She started crying and I started crying, it was a mess.” He waved his hand as if it were so simple.

 

“Well then dry 'em because I'm not letting puffy eyes ruin my baby sister's day.” Josie huffed in annoyance and tossed him a handkerchief, returning her attention to Sapphire. “It's okay little one. We all have second thoughts before our weddings, it's only natural.”

 

Stretch quietly slipped out of the dressing room before either woman could register him missing. There he made his quick journey to the altar and took his place beside his brothers and the best man. The best man was a strangely large dark skinned fellow with a name beginning with a K. JT claimed that they had met in college but the way the best man carried himself was more suited to a king than a scholar.

 

Soon Josephine took her place at the other half of the altar, talking to the bridesmaids in hushed tones. Suddenly the room went quite and the wedding marched was played, turning everyone's attention to the door at the end of the church.

 

When Sapphire appeared in her flowing white gown and her bouquet of blue flowers clutched in her hands, you could hear the whole room gasp in admiration. She looked so beautiful. So lovely. So ready.

 

But through her veil and through her smile, Stretch could see her sorrow.

 

And regretted his silence when it came time to object.

 

***

 

“You wanted to say yes.” Casper whispered, looking off into space.

 

“I did.” Stretch nodded bluntly, lowering his head to his knees. “And I never stopped regretting it for as long as I lived.”

 

It was dead silent for another minute or two until Casper found himself asking. “Do... do you think she ever regretted... Me?”

 

The older ghost went slack for a second before dragging him into a suffocating hug, wailing louder than any banshee or wolf. “Don't talk such nonsense. You're your mother's son. You got her looks, her brain, her... friendliness. Her smart mouth.” he laughed bitterly, laughing out a few more tears. “Don't you ever think she regretted loving you.”

 

Casper couldn't find a better action than to hug back, feeling as though he was crushing his uncle in his meagre hold. “Do  _ you _ ever regret me?”

 

“Not even for a second.” He smiled at him, the look on his face more genuine than anything Casper had ever seen before.

 

Feeling a little awkward, Stretch made a distracting cough and gave his nephew a sly smirk. “You know, I just remembered something. Isn't it supposed to be a certain someone's birthday?”

 

Casper's eyes widened. Out of all of the things he could have forgotten, his birthday just had to be one of them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you don't mind the massive chapter! There's a lot of references to other Casper works but they're not strictly in the same canon in this fic. I'm playing with the idea that the Trio very ill or poorly when they were alive, hence Stinkie's asthma or Stretch's condition. I hope to see you next time, please leave a review or a suggestion for how you would like the story to go! :D


	9. Happy Birthday

Stretch led Casper in from the garden to the kitchen where his two other uncles sat whispering about something. Stinkie and Fatso's conversation immediately halted when they noticed their brother and nephew enter the room.

 

“Oh! Uh...” Stinkie stalled, trying not to look nervous. “How did it go?”

 

Stretch shrugged his shoulders. “Well enough I suppose. He didn't kill me, so I guess that's a plus.”

 

The three brothers laughed nervously, waiting for Casper to say anything. The boy continued staring straight ahead, looking preoccupied by something.

 

“Hey.” Fatso said, hoping to snap the boy out of his daze. “Earth to bulb-head. What's wrong?”

 

“Did someone... bake?” Casper asked, ignoring his uncle's question. He sniffed at the air and confirmed that someone had in fact used the stove earlier. There were a few scattered baking supplies on the counter and a baking tray left to soak in the sink.

 

Stinkie and Fatso both scrunched up their faces in either anticipation or pain, trying their best not to spoil the surprise. The friendly ghost gave them a look of suspicion and floated into the parlor. Only to be blown back by the whole room shouting.

 

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY CASPER!”

 

It took the young ghost a few seconds to process what was happening.

 

There in the parlor was Dr Harvey and Kat, both on the couch wearing silly party hats on their heads. A massive chocolate cake sat on the coffee table alongside various other goodies. The Christmas tree, although now undecorated, had a multitude of boxes and letters sitting under it.

 

And as per ghostly tradition, Casper's birthday was being celebrated later in the evening but early enough so it didn't encroach upon any regular haunting hours/bedtimes.

 

The presence of two other ghosts immediately caught Casper's attention.

 

“Spooky! Pearl!” he exclaimed rushing to them and trapping them in a tight hug. “I thought you wouldn't make it!”

 

“'Course not!” Spooky wheezed, trying to escape his cousin's suffocating hold. “You think I'd leave you alone on your big day with _them_?” He playfully jabbed his thumb at the Trio who finally decided to join them.

 

“We wanted to wish you a good birthday silly! Can't do that when we're all the way in New York!” Pearl somehow hugged the friendly ghost tighter.

 

“By the way my Pops send his regards.” Spooky reminded himself, pointing to a specific box in the pile, a letter sitting on top of it. “Couldn't come this year on account of ghost flu. Don't think you'd want _that_ as a birthday gift.”

 

Ah yes. Hamish “Hank” McFadden, the oldest of the McFadden cousins, happy widower, and Spooky's father. He had won the familial arms race and thus inherited quite a bit of the family's business in New York, eventually raising his son there. Despite his rough New Yorker attitude, he was as frail and vulnerable to disease as the rest of his family.

 

Casper had spent many birthdays with them in New York and it was through those birthdays that he was able to experience things away from his sheltered existence in Whipstaff.

 

“You didn't leave him alone did you?” He asked worriedly, concerned for the uncle (well first cousin once removed – but who needs those technicalities?) he didn't see as often.

 

“Nah! Him and the Step-pops are taking it easy back home.”

 

“Step-pops?” Stretch suddenly asked, butting into the conversation.

 

Spooky looked confused before remembering that his uncles probably didn't know who he was talking about. “You remember Ashley Walton?”

 

Stretch nodded, only vaguely recalling the waifish beanpole who sat next to him and Hank back in school. “Only a little. I think we were in the same year of school back in the day. Why?”

 

“They met up couple'o years ago at Halloween. Pops and 'im have been stuck together ever since.” Spooky explained, noticing the odd looks on his uncle's face. “Hey, when you're dead as long as they've been, you can forgive them for making rash decisions.”

 

“I didn't know ghosts formed relationships post-mortem...” Dr Harvey marvelled, obviously thinking deeply about something.

 

“You think we're dead romantically too? I'm appalled!” Stretch balked in exaggerated offence.

 

“Then again fleshies do say 'till death do we start'.” Pearl stated, misremembering the phrase.

 

Spooky promptly corrected her. “That's till death do we _part_ , Poil.”

 

“But we're already dead! Why split now?”

 

Spooky smacked himself in frustration.

 

With that misunderstanding ironed out; they sat in front of the massive cake (which turned out to be the combined efforts of Kat and Uncle Fatso) and waited until Casper blew out the hundred-something candles crowded on top of it before digging in. The cake itself was great, likely because his uncles hadn't added anything lethal into it for once – though Stinkie seemed disappointed at the lack of blue cheese icing.

 

“Tastes remarkable.” Dr Harvey commented, licking his spoon.

 

Stinkie leaned in and whispered. “You should have seen the first one.”

 

***

 

26th of December

1900

 

“STINKIE!”

 

Stinkie dropped whatever he had been doing and froze, hands held up defensively. A metal tub clattered to the floor, contents slowly seeping out of the container.

 

“DON'T YOU DARE!” Fatso shouted, stomping over with a large baking tin in hand. “I spent most of last night baking that damn cake and I'm not letting you ruin it!”

 

“Aww! C'mon bro!” Stinkie pleaded, mourning the loss of his treat. “You know I can't stand that gross sweet stuff. At least let me add some flavour to it.”

 

The younger brother scowled at him. “You want a cake made out of cheese and liver you make it yourself, just don't go messing with this one.” He pushed Stinkie away from the triple tier behemoth, making sure to kick the tub of mystery icing far away from the table. “It's the kid's first one and I don't want him developing a taste for stink before he can walk.”

 

The kitchen doors opened, revealing Stretch and the birthday boy. Noise flooded in from the main hall, only growing muffled after the doors were shut tight. The eldest brother was rocking the inconsolable babe in his arms, trying his best to calm him down.

 

“Mad house out there?” Stinkie winced as their nephew continued to wail and scream over the sounds of the party. Casper was a year old now, but was easily mistaken for a newborn with how small and colicky he was.

 

“Yeah yeah...” Stretch confirmed, holding the babe in a way that he was leaning against his shoulder. “Kid got spooked by all the people coming up to see him. Saph was roped into talking with her folks so she told me to get him out of there.”

 

“Isn't Hank and his kid out there too?” Fatso inquired, knowing that their cousin had recently become a father himself.

 

“Yeah but that little guy loves the attention – laughing away and everything.” The elder brother sighed as the babe seemed to finally calm down and began gurgling against his shoulder. “Casp' can't stand there being more than three people in a room. I don't think keeping him in a crowd of a hundred is doing him any good.”

 

Cousin Hank rushed in moments later, his own child held carefully in his arms. Spencer McFadden (otherwise know as “Spooky” on account of his terrifying cries during the night) had been born shortly after Casper, but had been born full term whilst his cousin had come into the world a month or so early – ultimately leaving the family unsure of who was exactly “older” per se.

 

“Jesus! It's a mad house out there!” Hank commented, wiping his forehead with the brim of his distinctive bowler hat. He noticed little Casper and cooed at him in his thick New York/Irish brogue. “Little 'un couldn't handle the crowds eh?”

 

“No. Seems like you couldn't either.” Stretch pointed out, noticing that Spooky didn't look at all upset or overwhelmed – but Cousin Hank was breathing heavily and looked like he had just ran a marathon. As he should; seeing how anxiety disorders ran in all branches of the family.

 

Spooky in comparison was irrefutably happy, laughing and throwing tiny punches at everything and anyone that came within arms reach. He looked almost exactly like his smaller cousin, save for a thick dusting of freckles and a large round nose inherited from his father. He stared up at his uncles with curiosity before sticking his small tongue out at them, turning his attention to his cousin as he reached out to interact with him. Casper didn't really respond or engage but seemed to enjoy the attention.

 

Hank rubbed the back of his neck, not wanting to think of his overbearing wife or her equally overbearing family. “Don't like crowds. Kinda... suffocating, ya know?”

 

“How you came to live in the most populated city on earth astounds me.” Fatso said in a dry tone, finishing the last detail on the cake. “Oh thank god. Finally!”

 

The others looked at the cake and nodded in admiration.

 

Hank whistled. “All that for the little lad?”

 

“Yep!” Fatso puffed out his chest proudly, beginning to wheel the cake out of the kitchen. “Ma wanted to buy one but I told her I wanted to it. How many times am I gonna be available for this? Don't know where I'll be next year.”

 

“Knowing us. Here as always.” Stinkie stated matter-of-factly, hands crossed behind his head in boredom as he followed Fatso and the cake into the hall. “'Less we decide to move onto college...”

 

“Nah.” Stretch interrupted him, Casper now trying to grab at his face. “You know what happened last time-” His voice became nasally as the babe got a firm grip on his nose. “-w _e failed every application!_ ”

 

“Pssh...” Stinkie huffed. “Still doesn't mean I don't want to go. Maybe I'll get one of those fancy degrees like JT has. Get a cushy job and never have to lift a finger for the rest of my life.”

 

“Like you already do?” Hank ribbed, making sure that they weren't about to pass his in-laws. “Still, it could be good for you. I had to do that business degree and even I was only there for a year tops.”

 

“Yeah... Maybe.” Stinkie and Stretch found themselves saying in unison, both for different reasons.

 

As the cake reached the main hall, the room erupted in cheers. Casper whined a bit but thankfully didn't go into a crying fit like last time. The whole hall was decorated to the nines, paper decorations and felt ribbons lined the length of the staircase; leftovers from last night's Christmas celebration. A large dining table was dragged out from storage to sit in the middle of the floor, covered toe to tip with foods of all kinds.

 

Save for a certain centrepiece.

 

“Oooh! Make way for the birthday boy!” Sapphire exclaimed to the crowd, clearing the way for the brothers and Baby Casper, the cake following closely behind them.

 

The party gasped as the behemoth was carefully lifted from cart to table, it's height and weight being more than a grown man.

 

“I'd say this has been a definite success.” Fatso preened as the party dug into his creation, having yet to acquire his own plate. “Maybe **I** should go onto college. Maybe go to that nice walk-in one up in Deedstown and get a degree in cooking.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, just don't oversell it.” Stinkie frowned, having been barred from attending said college on account of some unpleasantness one faithful Harvest Moon dance with the dean's daughter and her boyfriend.

 

This only made Fatso push his chest out even farther, hands on his hips as he bragged. “Hey, can't blame a man for being proud! Plus I've always been the more culinary gifted of us.”

 

When Stretch managed to reach one lanky arm over the crowd for his own slice, he became suddenly aware how the rest of the party were suddenly less enthusiastic. The cake looked fine, at least from an aesthetic standpoint, but when cut it revealed a more _crispy_ texture than the moist surface. Taking a careful bite he realised what was wrong when his lips puckered in on themselves.

 

“Fatso?”

 

“Yeah?” Fatso's head turned to meet his eldest brother.

 

“Which sugar container did you use?”

 

“The red tin where we always keep the sugar... why?”

 

Stretch wheezed as the taste hit the back of his throat, holding the plate as far away from the baby as possible. He decided to whisper so not to panic any bystanders. “Ma moved that sugar tin into the cupboard to stop dad from putting too much in his tea.”

 

Fatso stood silent for a moment, only now becoming aware of the dry coughs and gags being made by the other party goers.

 

Red tins. Ma had received a set of them alongside a pair of salt and pepper shakers as a simple yet thoughtful birthday present. There were four tins in all. One for sugar, one for tea, one for coffee, and the last for...

 

Citric acid.

 

Fatso took a bite from the slice Stretch had been holding.

 

“Oh god...”

 

As Fatso ran to the kitchen to both spit out his sour creation and hide from criticism, Ma McFadden was glad that she ignored his warnings and brought in the back-up.

 

Stinkie wasn't sure what the fuss was about. Cake tasted fine to him.

 

***

 

Fatso elbowed Stinkie in the ribs and continued eating his thankfully non-sour creation.

 

After the cake was eaten and the leftovers put under tinfoil (as if it would deter the kids from eating it for breakfast), they all sat down and watched as Casper tore away at the wrappings and envelopes. Tossing the bright confetti like paper around the parlor like he did Christmas night.

 

He started with the largest present, the one Spooky and his father had gotten him, and made an elated noise when he opened the box. “Wow! A new train set!” (“Another one!?” Uncle Stretch shouted in the background). The accompanying letter was simply Cousin Hank and “Step-Pops” wishing Casper well on his hundred-something birthday – the twenty dollar bill taped to the card was also quite nice.

 

Pearl had gotten him something silly – a smart pair of polished leather shoes that he couldn't wear since he had only a spectral tail. “It's the thought that counts!” She said cheerfully, not a hint of regret on her face and Casper could do nothing but smile back.

 

Christmas with them was always a trip.

 

***

 

25th of December

1904

 

“Well, who's this then?” Cousin Hank asked, looking at the boy critically. “I thought I was getting my weedy little nephew, not this strapping young lad!”

 

“It's me!” Casper had laughed and embraced his uncle, all sound muted by the shrill train whistles.

 

Hank laughed with him and patted him on the shoulder warmly before turning his attention to the taller man getting onto the platform “How was the travel?”

 

Stretch shot his cousin a glare but didn't say anything as he was putting what little energy he had left into staying awake after so many hours of travel.

 

“Absolu-freaking terrible.” Stinkie answered for him, looking rather green from travel sickness.

 

“Friendship to Deedstown. Deedstown to Portland. Portland to Boston. Got stalled somewhere just before we reached New York.” Fatso summarized as he struggled with the suitcases, wondering how much clothing four men and a child even needed. “So it kinda sucked.”

 

“Ah.” Cousin Hank replied, remembering exactly why he wasn't making the journey up north every year. “At least you made it in time.”

 

JT's moustache twitched – it was the most emotion he could submit after a full day's journey. The train ride from Boston to New York had been gruelling. Snow had clogged the track more than once and the carriages were only barely protected from the cold. JT had always disliked coming down to the city for Christmas ever since he was a lad, but Mother had insisted that he bring Casper to see his relatives – declaring it crucial for the boy's social growth. JT had agreed only because he had business already scheduled in the city.

 

The men sighed and climbed into the back seat of Cousin Hank's Packard, trying to disguise the fact that they had fallen asleep the moment they sat down.

 

“Ah.” Hank said with little fuss, making sure that his cousins weren't about to fall out while he was driving. As he closed the back seat door with a click, he commented. “Seems like your Pappy and uncles are all tuckered out. Sad. I wanted to show them around the city a bit before all the Christmas revellers come about...”

 

There was a silence as Casper wordlessly lifted his tiny suitcase into the car, about to join the others in the back seat when Hank asked rhetorically.

 

“Say, how old are you meant to be?”

 

The boy puffed out his chest and boasted. “I'm five years old tomorrow!”

 

“Right you are! And as far as I can tell, boys of five (or just about) are allowed ride upfront with the driver.”

 

Needless to say; Casper had the time of his life.

 

If Friendship was a person, then New York City was the giant that towered over it. Buildings stretched across and upwards to make the best of limited space. It would be years until progressive-era politics and prohibition would bring it true bustle and crime but even in it's childhood there was a sense of dangerous enormity known only to wild explorers or to the city-dwellers that called it home.

 

Casper had to be pulled back by his suspenders multiple times to prevent him from falling out of the car in his amazement. As all of this was happening, Cousin Hank was rattling on about the city he had grown to love. “This traffic is terrible I love it! Back in Friendship you could throw your car down a road and not see anyone for miles – out here you have to fight just to get your engine running.” He said this as he nearly toppled the car trying to cut off another Packard driver. Angry threats were exchanged and the victor sped off. “There you see! Takes a real negotiator to ride these streets.”

 

As the sun dipped behind the buildings, they came to a nicer street, trees and cars sat in front of brownstones like rocking chairs in front of farmhouses.

 

“That's the street I'm on. Best area in the borough. Good shops and good houses but with enough scumbags that I feel right at home.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah! Oh you'll love it here Casp. Spooky and Poil are dying to see you. First time Poil's ever been out of Maine; ain't that a kick in the head? Then again her folks aren't very worldly so you can't blame the girl. I can't wait to teach the both of you how to play baseball – oh you'll love it!”

 

They slowed to a stop in front of a rather grand looking home in the middle of a row bordering a large park. To one who had grown up in the wealthier area of Friendship with it's Victorian manors and seaside villas, it was almost quaint. But to one who had grown up in the city it was like a palace.

 

Cousin Hank jostled his cousins from their sleep to help him with the bags, balancing most of them on his sturdy arms. “WE'RE HOME!” He shouted as he ducked into the foyer, the interior of the house completely mismatching with the man himself.

 

The home was by no means small, but it strained to make use of whatever space it could afford. Vibrant green wallpaper clashed with tattered red carpet, brass statues budged up against baseball gloves, photos of grand balls nudging against those of work anniversaries. This battle of opposites was no doubt attributed to the owners of the home.

 

“Wipe your feet!” Said the shrill voice coming from the parlor, revealing to be attached to Nora McFadden (nee Van Dalen thankyouverymuch). She marched over to them, pushing aside her husband's attempt at a welcoming kiss in favour of ordering around her guests. “The Leclairs and the MacDuffs are coming for dinner and I don't want you or the brat tracking mud all over the place.”

 

The men raised their brows at her – the closest thing to uncomplimentary they could express to the woman – and nodded, wiping the soles of their feet on the thread-bare welcome mat.

 

Casper didn't like Aunt Nora. She was mean and unfair and never let him and Spooky do anything. His grandparents had brushed it off, thinking it was the complaints of small child who didn't know what true “fairness” entailed. And such complaints would always find their way back to her and he would be punished greatly.

 

Before the young boy had the chance to wipe his feet, he collided with a being of similar weight.

 

“Casp!” His cousin Spooky all but shouted with delight. “Can't believe you made it!”

 

“Of course! I love staying with you and Uncle Hank!” Casper wheezed, hugging back.

 

“Aww enough of that!” Hank's chest swelled with pride and he playfully ruffled both of their hairs. “You two help your uncles to their rooms and maybe we'll talk about opening a present or two early.”

 

“Yes sir!” Both children nodded excitedly, wasting no time in corralling the four men up the stairs to the guest rooms, Uncle Stinkie falling asleep on them half-way up.

 

Aunt Nora sent her husband an annoyed glare and huffed, giving him the silent treatment when he asked what was wrong.

 

The Leclairs and MacDuffs arrived less than an hour later, shrugging off their snow soaked coats straight onto the foyer carpet – almost causing Aunt Nora to blow a gasket. The Leclairs had arrived in New York on an earlier train and had apparently been lost for a while until they ran into the MacDuff sisters.

 

“The roads here are so confusing...” Mrs Tallulah Leclair said in her usual dreamy tone. Both her and her husband were the honest, patient types who rarely spared a thought on anything they deemed too complicated – whether or not such a trait was a positive one would be debatable. “But at least we got to see some of the nightlife!” She and her family smiled in the same comforting warmth.

 

Hank laughed a bit – he really should think about inviting them over more often.

 

Little Pearl Leclair toddled off before Nora could tell her to wipe her feet, making a dash to Spooky's playroom upstairs.

 

All three children made shrieks of delight when they found each other, Pearl dragging them downstairs so they could run around the parlor together. The Trio emerged groggily from their naps, explaining that JT was out like a light a wouldn't be joining them for dinner.

 

A small girl had arrived with the MacDuff sisters, clinging against her aunt's leg as she shied away from the other children.

 

“This is Wendy; our niece”. The eldest sister Gertrude explained with a tinge of sadness in her voice, patting the girl's head. “She will be staying with us from now on.”

 

Hank nodded solemnly, knowing that the youngest MacDuff sister was (much like Casper's mother) no longer with them. He directed the house guests into the parlor and was about to say something about driving them to the station in the morning but paused when he noticed a man that had arrived with the Leclairs that he didn't recognise. He was blonde and had the same far-off look as the rest of his kin but there was something that Hank and the Trio couldn't put a pin on.

 

Mr Louis Leclair noticed the odd look on their faces and explained. “This is my brother-in-law Ashley Walton. We're staying with him while we're in New York.”

 

“Oh yes!” Hank nodded and had a strange smile on his face when he shook hands with the man. “We went to school back in Friendship I think. I thought I recognised you from somewhere.”

 

“Indeed.” Replied the waif of a man, his dreamy tone matching that of his sister. “We were in same class together if I recall correctly. I moved to New York only a few months ago. It's so nice to see someone from home again.”

 

The two men both had the same odd looks on their faces that some in the room found strange and few understood the meaning – but all decided not to comment.

 

With everyone gathered in the parlor, Hank announced that the children were allowed to unwrap a single present before dinner – much to the delight of the kids and the dismay of their guardians that were waiting for their meals.

 

Spooky had so much more presents than Casper did.

 

The smaller boy was amazed when he was shown the massive tree in the parlor, stacked from root to tip in boxes. His excitement was deflated however when Aunt Nora roughly turned him to face the pile sitting out of sight budged under the window sill. His presents were all from his uncles – not a penny spared by his aunt obviously – and were wrapped hastily in that day's newspaper.

 

Spooky stared at his pile of gifts, all beautifully wrapped and from wealthy maternal relatives, and immediately ignored them in favour of his father's gift to him; a brand new baseball bat and glove – all signed by the Brooklyn Dodgers.

 

Hank passed the bat to his son, the look in Spooky's eyes mimicking that of a soldier receiving knighthood.

 

Casper felt a flame of envy burn inside him and tore his gaze away, deciding to busy himself with unwrapping his own gift.

 

“Hey Casp!” Spooky said loudly, breaking the silence. “Dad got you one too!”

 

Casper almost fainted when Hank presented him his own bat and glove – again signed by his favourite team. Him and Spooky began babbling to each other about how they were going to play tomorrow in the park or if they could play “right now please?”

 

Pearl had blissfully ignored the gifts under the tree and giggled when her parents haphazardly tied a beautiful pink bow into her hair – promising a matching dress that would come with it.

 

Wendy slowly tore the paper off her largest gift, gasping when she found a body length red cloak, similar to that of a hooded robe and slipped it on over her clothes. Doing a complete shift in personality as she ran around in her new raiment and began excitedly chatting with the other children as if she had always been this happy.

 

“It was part of her mother's robe.” The second MacDuff sister Gabrielle whispered, half a glass of wine already in her hand. “We all have our own and red was our baby sister's colour.”

 

“Shame what happened to Mae.” Stinkie sighed, sinking into the leather couch. “She was a good egg.”

 

“Same to Saph.” The third sister Frances said respectfully, taking a quick sip from her glass. “How is your one dealing with it?”

 

“Not so good.” Stretch answered honestly, deciding to ignore the conversation happening on the other side of him. “Casp was still bite sized when we lost her – don't think he really understands what happened. JT never talks about her and we're kinda scared that he just wants to forget her.”

 

Gertrude shook her head and muttered. “Ass. Our brother-in-law is the same. Didn't even attend the funeral, he just showed up to collect the legal stuff and sign off Wendy onto us.” She looked into her drink and said in a dark quiet tone. “I hope he burns.”

 

“You don't mean that.”

 

“Of course I do. I know how to start fire.” she and her sisters laughed, clinking their glasses together at the dark joke.

 

“You all have wicked senses of humour, you know that?” Fatso smiled, his mood already lifted from a few minuted with these women.

 

“Oh we know you love it.” Frances teased, slapping the larger man's shoulder playfully as the conversation was turned from sadness to mirth.

 

The rest of the night went smoothly all things considered. Hank had put up a fuss about not wanting a chef to do the work and had whipped up the whole Christmas feast himself, setting a massive smoked turkey in the middle of the table with boiled vegetables as the McFadden brothers fought over the gravy boat. The kids were all shuffled to the end of the dining table away from the adults and far away from the alcohol being liberally dispensed to the dinner guests.

 

Casper was getting along very well with Wendy, despite his usual fear of unfamiliar faces, and she in turn enjoyed chatting his ear off.

 

“My aunts live in the woods outside the city!” She said with the same enthusiasm as if she had said they lived in a mansion. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I think they're witches!”

 

“Really?” Casper gasped, completely bewitched by the thought. He then asked nervously. “Do they eat kids?”

 

“I don't know!” Wendy answered, her tone unchanged. “Maybe!”

 

Pearl commented cheerfully. “That's okay. I make a lot of wishes so it's only fair that they get what they want.”

 

Spooky, despite looking a little green at the thought, remarked. “No, witches aren't the ones that grant wishes. It's stars that do that.”

 

“But how can a star hear me from all the way down here? At least you just have to find a witch and ask nicely.” Pearl pondered, a thoughtful look on her face.

 

Spooky smacked his face in frustration, the first of many he would do in the coming years.

 

JT McFadden finally joined the party part-way through desert – only to explain that he had to leave early.

 

“But you just got here!” Hank protested. “You're never around as it is and it isn't fair on your family to just walk out like that!”

 

“Yeah!”

 

“C'mon!”

 

“At least stay for a drink!”

 

Despite their offers, JT hurried to put on his coat and open the door. “Mr K and I have business to attend to uptown. I'll see you all at the station late on Monday.”

 

“Wait!” Stretch shouted, trying to draw his brother's attention to something. “Haven't you forgotten something?”

 

JT blinked nervously and answered. “Thank you for your hospitality and I hope to see you next year.” He nodded to Hank and Nora before walking out into the snow, door slamming behind him.

 

There was a heavy silence as JT's footsteps ran through the snow, making a harsh crunching sound until it was deafened by the sounds of the city. No one at the table dared to say anything, even as a soft sniffles began at the end of the table.

 

“He forgot...” Casper mumbled, tears rolling silently down his face.

 

Before the boy could descend into full on sobbing, Stretch scooped him in his arms and held him tight against his shoulder. “Nah. He didn't forget.” He soothed, reminding himself that the boy was still very much a toddler and thus didn't understand such things as working overnight or long business trips to elsewhere like JT was so inclined to doing. “Maybe he has a surprise at home and he didn't want you to know just yet.”

 

The boy's eyes widened and he asked through puffy red eyes. “At home?”

 

Stretch wanted to grit his teeth at the lie but continued to bluff. “He couldn't take it with us on the train or it would have broken.”

 

Stinkie followed the lie, adding. “Yeah! It was too big to fit in our luggage too!”

 

“Really?” Casper rubbed his eyes, his mood starting to shift from sadness to joy. “What is it?”

 

Fatso wagged his finger and tutted. “No, no. We can't tell you. If we did then it wouldn't be a secret anymore.”

 

The boy made an annoyed huffing sound but seemed to have calmed down quite a bit.

 

Getting an idea, Cousin Hank suggested. “Maybe it's time for the kids to open up the rest of their presents? After we have all that sorted out, they can go upstairs to the playroom for a while.”

 

“What about bedtime?” Wendy asked innocently, not understanding why they were being sent upstairs so early.

 

Her aunts answered for the other adults. “You can stay up for as long as you like, just make sure not to make too much noise.”

 

“Okay!” The kids all replied, running back into the parlor for another round of unwrapping.

 

The adults followed closely behind them, their conversation turning back to what it had been before JT had left. Stretch put Casper back to ground level, patting his head as the boy followed the other kids out of the room.

 

“You're right Gert.” He whispered to the eldest MacDuff sister, both them still lingering in the foyer. “I hope he burns.”

 

Gertrude pursed her lips into something close to a frown. “You don't mean that.”

 

“I do. Since he seems to be gathering his own firewood...” He ran his hand through his messy brown hair, sighing deeply. “I love my brother, I do. But since Saph passed away I don't think JT is even bothering to make the effort anymore...”

 

“Why not ask for guardianship?” She asked as of it were so simple. “Clearly you and your brothers have more time for him than JT does.”

 

Stretch actually laughed at this response. “I don't think Mom and Dad would like that. Casp' is their only grandkid and JT is their college graduate with a job in the big city.” He leaned against the door frame of the parlor. “And me and the others well... none of us can compete with that you know?”

 

“I know how that feels”. Gertrude's eyes flickered and she nodded in understanding. “Think of it this way; the kid is going to grow up adoring you and hating him. If that's not the perfect revenge then I don't know what is.”

 

“Maybe you're right.” He nodded in reply, deciding to finally join the group in the parlor. “Maybe I just got to wait until he learns what an Ass his father is being.”

 

“There you go.” She smiled when a thought entered her mind. “So what are you going to do about the “surprise” you promised him?”

 

Stretch stopped dead in his tracks and realised. “Shit. I'm going to have to think of something before we leave tomorrow.”

 

And that's how the Trio got pneumonia from running out in the middle of a snowstorm to find a “surprise” gift for their nephew. But at least Casper got his first ever train set.

 

***

 

On his next gift, his uncles had given him a strange leather bound book, similar to that of an album. When Casper peeled open the first page he gasped.

 

It was a photo of his mother.

 

Not only that but it was a photo of her from her childhood. Accompanying her were three taller girls and a few taller boys, the parents and uncles and aunts all squeezed in behind them for the group shot. The bottom of the photograph said “La Familia Sombra - 1883”

 

Casper looked up at his uncles, giving them a look somewhere between shock and joy.

 

“After finding my old photographs, me and the boys started looking around for others...” Stinkie explained, scratching the back of his neck. “We figured that you might want to see your Ma and her folks. You know, since you only started learning about them recently.”

 

“We hoped that a least one of your Aunts were still around, but we had no luck. All finished business on their end.” Fatso continued, looking a bit disappointed at not finding any of the other Sombra sisters. “But we were able to find one of their old cousins that still had some photos in storage.”

 

Stretch sat in odd silence, expected to round off the explanation or at least complain about how difficult it was to track down said cousin or how much of a pain it was to restore them enough so that they weren't just a pile of acid paper. But he said nothing. He just sat there with his head slightly craned to one side as if he was trying to asses his nephew's reaction.

 

Casper continued to flick through the pages, coming to a stop a one particular photograph depicting a birthday long since past.

 

“Do you like it?” was his eventual response.

 

Casper launched himself at his Uncles, surprising them with a suffocating hug. “Thank you...” was all he was able to say, seemingly not noticing when his uncles replied with their own uneasy holds.

 

The offending photo lay there in the album.

 

It read: “Su última navidad - 1902.”

 

***

 

25th of December

1901

 

“This is ridiculous...” Stretch muttered, pacing around the front of the bedroom door, his cane swishing at the air violently. The doctor was inside, determining whether or not the lady of the house needed to be taken to hospital. “It's been an hour! What's taking him so damn long?”

 

Stinkie and Fatso nodded from their place by the wall. Fatso was standing ramrod still, not wanting to show any emotion less he dissolve into unintelligible blubbers. Stinkie kept sighing and coughing, not feeling so well himself.

 

That winter had been a tough one.

 

The whole river and coast had frozen over, bringing hunger and cold winds with it. New York was completely covered in snow, blocking all communication with family staying in the city. Every street in Friendship was blocked by snowfall, the residents either too afraid to venture outside or too weak to plough the ice.

 

Sapphire had grown ill during the night.

 

It wasn't a surprise (she had been ill for much of recent memory) but with the weather being the worst it had been in ages and with her already frail constitution...

 

Stretch shook his head and continued to complain, not wanting to think about such terrible things. He jumped when he felt something tug at his pants leg.

 

“Okay?” the babe asked, a far off look on his face. He had stumbled backwards and landed on his rump, his miniature dress shirt and suspenders straining to make him look older than he actually was.

 

Stretch immediately ceased his complaining, picking the small boy off the ground. Even after almost two years it still surprised him how little he weigh. “Hey kiddo. Who let you out of bed? Don't you have a birthday party tomorrow?”

 

The babe chewed on his fist and ignored the question, his gaze fixed on the doors to the bed chamber. “She okay?” he pointed to the door, not able to hear the worried talking between his mother and the doctor.

 

The three brothers grimaced and lied. “She's okay. Just under the weather.”

 

“Okay.” The babe accepted, looking off into empty space.

 

Poor kid didn't even know what was happening.

 

Casper was two years old, at least he would be in less than twenty-four hours, and still walked that odd line between infancy and childhood. He rarely spoke, he rarely walked, and rarely showed interest in other children – in fact he even seemed to dislike the children of family friends who came to visit. He was an oddly wilted child, something that made all of the McFadden family rather fearful. Even JT, as cool and calculating a child he was, at least enjoyed playing outside.

 

“It's just a simple check-up...” JT arrived shortly afterwards, a rare look of worry on his face. He tried to peer through the gap in the door and huffed when he couldn't see what was happening. “It's just a simple check-up, it's just a simple check-up...” He kept muttering, trying to calm himself down with a mantra. “It's a simple check-up. Whyisittakingsolong?”

 

He joined Stretch in his pacing, the babe being almost rocked back to sleep in the motion.

 

The doctor exited the bed chamber moments later with a mournful look on his face. He was shaking his head and sighing, wiping his glasses. He walked over to the brothers and said with a sad tone in his voice. “I'm sorry... Her condition is dour. I'm afraid that even with the best medicine she'll be unlikely to recover.”

 

“Oh no you don't! She's survived worse than this!” Stinkie exclaimed, pushing past the doctor and into the room, Stretch, Fatso and JT following closely behind. He fell against the side of the bed and shouted. “She'll be alright! We've all survived worse than this!”

 

They had to stop themselves from gasping when they saw her.

 

Isolated since her illness worsened, she looked less human and more fey. Her skin was almost translucent against her veins, her blue eyes now dulled like a knife. Her bones poked through her skin, the sides of her face concave where her cheeks used to be. She looked at her visitors weakly, smiling bright enough to blind God.

 

“Hello my treasure.” She beamed when she saw her son, barely awake and reaching out to her. She reached out to hold him, Stretch kneeling down to carefully pass the boy into her branch-like arms. “Why are you awake this time of night?”

 

“Ma okay?” He asked back, playing with her wiry white hair.

 

“I'm okay. Just... very tired.” She nuzzled his forehead, planting dry kisses all over his face. “I might need to go away for a while. Would you be okay with that?”

 

“Okay?” the babe replied uncertain of what she meant.

 

“I love you Casper.”

 

“Love you.”

 

She continued peppering his head in kisses, only pausing when her brothers-in-law knelt by her bedside for what would likely be their last moments with her. She looked at them all sadly, her eyes dampening.

 

“I'm sorry I have to leave.”

 

“You... you can't...” Stretch gasped on his own words, falling forward to press his face against her shoulder. “You just can't...” His own breath felt like it was cutting his head off, making his throat ache and his head light. “We can't lose you. It ain't right.”

 

Sapphire pressed a sweet kiss against his temple, a thin hand curling to ruffle his dishevelled hair. “You sap. And I thought you didn't have emotions.”

 

Stretch made a choking sound and held on tighter, maybe if he held on long enough she wouldn't go away.

 

Stinkie tried to say something. It's almost heartless – he'd scold himself – for already having a script he was meant to recite if she were to die. But at the moment he couldn't say anything. He could only gape as his lungs had all the air pushed out them and he too collapsed into the bedsheets.

 

Fatso had been crying the very moment he walked into the room. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair. Saph was a great woman and his dearest friend, why couldn't have someone else taken her place and let her live to see her kid graduate? Her immediate family were already gone, either trapped in New York or scattered across the country like poppy seeds. Her in-laws were all she had at present.

 

She continued to get weaker even as time passed, the grandfather clock ticking almost mockingly as it counted down her life. At one point her arms went slack and she almost dropped the child, passing the responsibility to Fatso as Stretch didn't dare to move from his spot at Sapphire's side.

 

JT stood in the middle of the room and had not made a single noise in the time he had been there. He was in shock, paralysed like a deer in the headlights of a car. JT had been taught to be non-confrontational but how was he supposed to confront _this_? He tried to make a word but quickly decided against it, letting die on his lips.

 

Sapphire breaths grew heavier and heavier as she tried to keep them steady. She started hacking at some point during the hour, her dry throat and lungs bringing up blood. A tear or two ran down her face. She was scared but she didn't want them to know.

 

Casper started to get extremely fussy at being held for so long. When he started tossing his fists at the air and squalling with the discomfort, Saph sat up straight and said.

 

“I think it would be best if he went to bed...” before she could finish her sentence her eyes went dull and her body started convulsing.

 

Stretch jumped back, horrified by the sudden seizure. He shouted. “Get the doctor! NOW!”

 

Fatso decided to be the one to fetch the doctor, taking the crying toddler out of the room so he wouldn't have to see what was happening. Stinkie, knowing how such fits worked, turned Sapphire on her side and tried moving her up on the bed so she wouldn't fall off and injure herself.

 

“JT!” Stretch yelled to his brother, angry that he had yet to do anything. “God sakes help us clear the area!”

 

JT did nothing.

 

The doctor came back moments later, clutching his medical bag tightly as he tried to help his patient ride out the seizure. Fatso was lingering by the doorway, having put Casper back into his bed to shield him from what was happening.

 

“When did the seizure begin?” The doctor asked, taking out whatever he needed.

 

“Just a little under a minute ago. She's had them in the past before.” Stinkie supplied, moving out of the doctor's way.

 

“Get me a water basin! I think she's choking on something!”

 

Stinkie nodded and ran to fetch one.

 

“Sir,” The doctor asked JT, not daring to take his eyes off his patient. “Can you please stay by your wife's side? She will be very confused when she comes too and she needs someone to anchor her.”

 

After receiving no reply, Stretch turned around to ask. “JT? Why you-”

 

JT had already bolted.

 

Stretch felt his blood boil but he decided to ignore it, going to the opposite side of the bed to help steady Saph until she came back from the brink.

 

She came to about three minutes later. She had shaken herself pretty badly and she was crying, terrified and embarrassed by what had happened. Stretch let her spill all her fears and all her anger into his chest. She wasn't made of stone or made of sunshine like she tried to be. She was scared and she wanted to live to see another day with her family. She wanted to spend another silly New Years with her sisters. She wanted to continue to see her son smile everyday. She wanted to live.

 

And she did. At least for now.

 

***

 

The very last gift was a heavy thing, hidden strategically under the tree.

 

Casper wiped his eyes, still a little emotional from his Uncle's gifts. The last gift was from Dr Harvey and it was almost impossible to move it from the floor to the table.

 

As the paper was torn and fell away Casper stopped in his tracks. Too much was coming back to him at once.

 

***

 

“Do you like it?” JT asked, presenting the beautiful painted sleigh to his son. “I found someone who made these things for a living and they sold me the best one there!”

 

Casper bounced excitedly. “Really? For me?”

 

“Of course!” his father smiled the widest he had in years. “I'll join you after you take it for a test drive.”

 

“Wow! Thanks dad!” the boy shouted with joy, holding the extremely heavy sleigh over his head as he ran out the back door into the snow covered back garden.

 

JT sighed and went back to his work.

 

***

 

“Do you like it?” James asked cautiously, waiting for Casper's reaction. “I found someone that helps restore old antiques and toys and they were able to restore it to what it would have been like back when it was brand new.”

 

Casper was trembling.

 

The Trio shared confused glances at this before looks of knowing set across their faces.

 

James, thinking that Casper simply didn't like the gift, said. “It's fine if you don't want to use it. I know that your sleigh holds some bad memories. But I though it would be a kind gesture to fix it up. Maybe one day you would like to-”

 

“ _-_ _ **take it for a test drive**_ _._ ”

 

Dr Harvey blinked knowing that the voice that finished his sentence had not been his own or anyone else in the room. The voice that cut him off was mousy yet stern and dripping in cloying enthusiasm. It was a voice he was pretty sure he had never heard once before in his life. The others looked around the room in confusion, proving that it hadn't been a trick of his ears.

 

“Pardon?” he asked to particularly no one, assuming that the strange voice had been imaginary. “I'm very sorry if the gift offends you. We can put it back into storage if that's what you'd like-”

 

“ _ **I'll join you after you take it for a test drive.**_ ” the voice repeated.

 

The Trio and Spooky all went stiff as they recognised the voice.

 

“J... JT?” Fatso was the first to say, remembering the inflections in his younger brother's voice. “Who the- where is that coming from?”

 

Kat stepped forward feeling mighty spooked out by what was happening. She noticed that Casper hadn't moved an inch since the voice started and tried to ask him. “Casper, what's wrong? Do you know who's voice is that-”

 

Her words died in her throat as she saw that Casper's entire form had become this horrible greyish colour and his eyes paled into a dull white, his body slack and his ecto thinning out until his was mostly transparent.

 

“ _ **-take it for a test drive.**_ ” the voice of JT McFadden was discovered to be coming from Casper himself, mouthing and mimicking the words his father said before he sent him off to play that fateful day. The words flying from his mouth and repeating like a broken record.

 

Dr Harvey sprung into action, recognising that something was very very wrong. He had seen it once or twice in a younger patient. Memories of ones death was never a pleasant sight but the situation was worsened by the age of the deceased. Not enough life lived to block it out and little to no time spent coping with the circumstances.

 

“Casper. Look at me. Look at me. It's just a hunk of wood.” He found himself grabbing the young ghost by the shoulders, gently pulling him away from the sleigh. “I'm sorry that I brought it all back I'm sorry.”

 

He signalled to the others to get rid of the sleigh, the five ghosts responding by tossing it out an open window. The Trio looked on in horror at what was happening to their nephew, his state reminding them far too much of the seizures Sapphire had suffered in her last few years of life.

 

Dr Harvey felt like kicking himself. It had just been a cute gift idea; to restore a favoured toy to it's prime so that Casper or maybe even Kat could enjoy it. But the significance of the sleigh, coupled with the unfortunate phrases he used, were too close to how Casper remembered his passing.

 

“It's just a hunk of wood.” he continued, sighing with relief as Casper came down from his paralysis. “It's just a hunk of wood Casp.”

 

“Wh-what?” The ghost mumbled, colour returning to his ecto. “What's happening?” he looked around, terrified. “D-did I almost... go away?”

 

“No.” James explained as softly as he could. “You... you had a post-mortem specific anxiety attack.”

 

“A-a what?”

 

“You got all shaky and started talking like your Dad.” Spooky interjected, shoving his way forward to check and see if his cousin was alright. “Was that like... an epileptic fit or something? I've seen those back when I was a fleshie.”

 

“Close. But again it only effects ghosts.” Dr Harvey began, feeling almost uncomfortable about having to explain what happened. “If a ghost does not fully remember or has not learned to cope with their death, anything that is closely tied with their death may trigger a panic attack-like state. I hadn't know just how significant that particular sleigh had been – or how much my words matched up with what happened. I'm so sorry for what I caused.”

 

“You should be!” Stretch barked at him, him and the others rushing to Casper's side. “What were you even thinking?!”

 

“I understand that I -”

 

“Did you think he'd jump right back into the snow?” Fatso bellowed, his voice booming.

 

“Jesus Doc! Is this going to happen to us when we start remembering what happened?” Stinkie asked, a horrified look on his face.

 

 

“ **STOP.** ”

 

The room was silenced again by an alien voice, however this one was not like JT's at all. They stared at Casper, rubbing his throat from the effort.

 

“I mean... It isn't Dr Harvey's fault. I... I really appreciate what he did but... I guess I'm starting to remember a bit too much of my dad right now.” He stumbled over his words, wanting to get away as soon as possible. “Excuse me. I'm going to my room. Thanks for coming.”

 

He gave Spooky and Pearl both a weak half-hearted hug before floating all the way up to his bedroom. Accidentally mimicking the method used by his father in times of crisis.

 

The party had to wrap up quickly after that.

 

Spooky and Pearl were staying in Friendship for the while and told the Doc to contact them if Casper ever seemed to need a listening ear. The Trio had floated away, somewhat disgusted at the doctor for causing what happened. Kat had run off upstairs, whether to her own room or to comfort Casper they weren't sure.

 

Dr Harvey sighed. He had really messed up hadn't he?

 

Kat opened the door to Casper's playroom slowly, scanning the room for the friendly ghost. Before she could put a toe forward a ghostly breeze almost knocked her down.

 

“ _ **Go away**_.” an ethereal voice said, echoing in the large room.

 

“No.” Kat said defiantly, stepping into the room completely. “Moping away from everyone is not going to fix anything. You need to talk to someone about this.”

 

Casper materialised, leaning against the table where he had begun to set up his new train sets. The room was scattered with toy tracks and figures, making it a painful barrier for those with feet. “Just go Kat. I want to be left alone.”

 

“No you don't.” She shook her head, having remembered a few tactics from her father. “You just don't know who to talk to about it.”

 

“There's nothing to talk about okay? I just... froze up.” The friendly ghost tried to brush it off, crossing his arms as he sat upon the ground. “It used to happen a lot when I was alive. It's not that big a deal.”

 

Kat sighed, traversing the minefield of toy parts, before sitting cross-legged on the floor next to the young boy. She waited a minute before she started to ramble. “You like fireworks Casp?”

 

“Yeah.” he answered curtly, not understanding why she was asking him that. “They're pretty and they always go off during holidays and summertime.”

 

“I don't like them at all.” Kat said with a firm tone in her voice. “They're loud and they cause fires.”

 

Casper turned to stare at her as she continued her spiel.

 

“After my mom died, I hated fireworks and loud fire alarm noises in general. The colours, the sounds, they just started reminding me of that night...” She trailed off, the wound unexpectedly fresh. “One day at my old school there was a demonstration for the school summer festival. It was supposed to be a fun money raising thing just before the year ended. I was really excited, I wanted to join in with my new class and do something fun for once. But on the day there were fireworks...”

 

“...and you... froze up like I did.” Casper finished for her, realising that even someone as strong and aloof as Kat still had her own fears and anxieties.

 

“Yeah. In front of the whole school. I was just a kid and the school counsellor said I looked like a soldier that just came home from a war. Dad kicked himself a lot because he didn't know that there'd be fireworks at the festival. We had to move shortly afterwards, we just couldn't stay in our hometown anymore.” Kat finished her story, her face a rosy pink from rubbing her eyes with her sleeve. “Both me and Dad went into grief therapy and it got a lot better. Not great but better and even though I don't freeze up anymore at the sound of a fire alarm I still can't stand fireworks.”

 

“So me and the sleigh...”

 

“Is like me and fireworks.”

 

Casper sighed and said his own piece. “That sleigh... I loved that sleigh so much. It was the first big big birthday gift my dad ever got me. He gave it to me and said that he'd join-” he cut himself off, not wanting to repeat the phrase from earlier. “Well you know what happened.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I don't think I'll ever want to get on it again.”

 

“I don't blame you.”

 

The silence wasn't as awkward as they had thought. It was actually quite nice just to vent and listen and let everything settle once it was said and done.

 

After a few minutes, Kat got an idea.

 

“Want to get your uncles and Dad to chop it into firewood?”

 

Casper stared at her, not as put off by the idea as he had hoped. The idea of burning the offending sleigh seemed almost cathartic considering what had happened. Any thought of what it had once meant to him and who it was originally from had been long since tossed out the window.

 

“Sure.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you don't mind that sheer amount of interludes and flashbacks. Just wanted to do a chapter on Casper's previous birthdays and the Trio's previous Christmases. Hope you liked the in inclusion of Spooky and Pearl and the extended families. Please leave a review and give your suggestions on what should go into the next chapter. Have a nice day!


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